


unto skies of fire

by BucketofWater



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Essek Thelyss Has a Crush, Everyone In The Mighty Nein Knows, Fjord Voice: 'Fellas is it gay to kiss your homie on the mouth?', Fluff, Found Family, Gratuitous Pining, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Platonic Kissing, Soft Kisses, Touch-Starved Essek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22700695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BucketofWater/pseuds/BucketofWater
Summary: five times Essek sees the Mighty Nein kissing Caleb, and the one time he tries it out for himself.orfive times the Mighty Nein realise that Essek has a crush, and the one time he does something about it.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 121
Kudos: 1376





	1. Nott the Brave

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, this plot was in my drafts for the longest time as widofjord, but recent Essek scenes have changed my mind.
> 
> minor spoilers in this chapter; everything else is wildly au. hit me up on tumblr @ereborslionheart to cry about critical role with me.

Light swelled in the dim chamber, wicks creaking as the candles sputtered in the imposing silence. Beneath his feet the stone slabs were firm and hard, cruel against his muscles when he was so unused to the touch.  
  
Even in privacy Essek was not prone to walking, it was far simpler to always handle the terrible inconvenience of perpetual floating rather than allow himself to know the relief from the task, to permit himself to be familiar with the comfort. Already, after just an hour of the Mighty Nein coaxing him into metaphorically stepping down, he could feel knots of tension unwinding in his shoulders, sagging at being relieved from a weight that he forgot he was carrying.  
  
The worry was replaced by a different gnawing pressure, the tightness of his chest at the concern for these people - these _friends_ , _his_ friends - and the swelling warmth of excitement as it curled low in his gut. New magic was a wonder, it was almost unfounded, and that in less than an hour Caleb had brought him something, tangible and workable and ready to be cast, was so surreal that his mind was reeling to keep up with the possibility.   
  
Incense curled in the air, mingling with the gritty earthen musk of damp clay as it squelched beneath Nott’s nervous shuffling. Caleb was crouched before her, face chalky pale and drawn with a deep frown that creased his brow. Essek knew that he should not stare, that he should not impose on such a moment, but Jester was gawking and worrying her thumb against her lip and Fjord was pointedly watching Nott with a determined set to his jaw, flecks of dark clay clinging to his nose.   
  
Nott was speaking lowly, voice a rasp that drew out almost silently into the room. Caleb tensed, long mouth pulled into a pointed frown and his dark eyes watching her with a burning intensity that Essek was unfamiliar with. There was a determination to the look, a twist of bitter wetness that gave away the agony that his body was refusing to betray.   
  
Then the woman raised a hand, setting it softly against Caleb’s cheek. As she shifted the clay squelched unpleasantly, and her hand skimmed across the man’s face so very tenderly, leaving a streak of grey in its wake.  
  
When Caleb breathed his shoulders shuddered with the effort, throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. Softly. his mouth began moving to form gentle words that Essek could not pick up. The moment was not for him to observe, he _knew_ that it was not, but he was so utterly transfixed by the open scroll of emotion there, radiating blinding tenderness and pain and fear.  
  
They were so very different from anything Essek knew. These people did not have the same time that he did, that the Consecuted were allotted. Real mortals had to live abashedly and with so much abandon, to face every single emotion with bravery. Nott would probably toe around the decision for a decade or two, if it were an option. But it was not, and now tears swelled in the torchlight yellow of her eyes.  
  
Then those eyes slid closed, and she hesitantly closed the distance between them and pressed her mouth to Caleb’s own. Caleb uttered a strange sound, but Essek had already averted his gaze, staring pointedly at the toe of his leather boot until the prickling burn against the back of his neck subsided.   
  
He had not known- he never would have guessed that they-  
  
“Oh.” Jester whispered, where she was hovering to his right.   
  
Nott had already drawn away, small face scrunched with an amalgamation of bitter emotions and she nodded towards both himself and Caleb without a further glance. Essek moved forward, ready to assist Caleb were any part of their calculations incorrect, but his mind was still churning over the sound that the other man had made, trying to process it.  
  
Caleb had sounded so dreadfully sad, had uttered a mournful little sigh, and Essek could not begin to understand _why_.

\----

Jester had curled up into one of the plush chairs in his guest parlour. Her feet were tucked up beneath the plume of her skirts and the tip of her tail traced the ground lightly. A pile of biscuits were stacked on the broad arm of the chair, spilling crumbs over the fabric and onto the floor. Essek clenched his jaw, swallowing down instilled urge to clean it up. These people grew a tree through their house, surely they would not mind such a small mess?  
  
She grinned as he approached, round face marked with soft dimples as her cheeks curled. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, she plucked up one of the biscuits and held it out to him as he approached.  
  
“We are very sorry about your yard you know.” She said, as he took the offered biscuit from her grasp. “But you know that we sorta-probably-absolutely have to do it again when the curse is broken.”   
  
“Of course.” Essek nodded, realising with a start that he did not mind. Sure, there would be muttering at court, scathing words behind curled palms that the Shadowhand had let himself get so mixed up with those Empire _guests_ that his estate was falling into disrepair. But even with that very concerning thought, he did not care. He would dig up his yard ten times over for them, just to give them the chance. “I will order a shovel, just in case.”  
  
“Caduceus already has one.” Jester dismissed, waving a hand waspishly between them.   
  
“I was joking.” Essek muttered, staring pointedly at the crumbling sweet in his palm.   
  
“Oh.” Jester drawled, then, voice lilted with genuine humour as she laughed.   
  
“Anyway-” Essek pressed, that familiar tingling warmth burning along the nape of his neck and the stretch of his shoulders. A feeling that was all too common in the presence of the Mighty Nein. “I did not know that Caleb and Nott-Veth?-” he had heard that name, uttered between them, but no explanation had been offered- “were together.”  
  
“Together?” Jester asked, mouth puffing out into a thoughtful frown before her eyes flashed with a wicked humour. “Oh! They’re not like that, Nott already has a husband who loves her _so_ much, Essek. You would probably like him too, he makes a lot of potions and vials and-”  
  
She spiralled off on a tirade of the many talents of Nott’s partner, ticking the examples off on her fingers. His attention was only recaptured when her voice dropped into something deeper and intense, snatching his gaze up in her own bright eyes.  
  
“Why?” She drawled, lips quirking. “Are you _jealous_ ?”  
  
“I-” Essek breathed, embarrassment flaring hot in his gut. “Aren’t you supposed to be embarking on a quest to break that curse?”  
  
Jester _did_ eventually leave, face creased into a smugly satisfied grin and the pockets of her skirt stuffed with a collection of snack foods that Essek had set out for their visit. She wrapped her soft hands around his forearms in a semi-embrace, his skin prickling at the touch.  
  
Twice now he had been almost-hugged by these people, wrapped up in the foreign heat and pulse of joy at the warm touches. First it had been Caleb’s breath, ghosted warm across his cheek as he had grinned erratically up in the research tower, eyes sparking with a fervent energy he had _never_ seen in the man before. Nott’s hand had pressed firmly against his lower back, small but present.   
  
And to watch them leave? To close the door on them and to return to the solitude of his own home, echoing in silence now that the laughter had left? He felt his skin burn warm where their phantom touches lingered. Caleb’s palm still wrapped tightly around his shoulder, Jester’s fingers still clutched his arms like a vice.  
  
Her words echoed like a mantra in his mind, a beating drum that throbbed as he returned to his study. Caleb’s notes were scattered among the mess of broken clay, and Essek sighed heavily, resigned to having to clean up the mess himself.   
  
He plucked up a scrap of parchment, Caleb’s scratchy handwriting curling across the page in dark ink. Essek traced the words with the pad of his finger, skin rasping against the coarse grain of the material. He could almost recall the man’s expression as he worked, mouth worried into an eager smile, brows set with determination. In that time, bowed in research, he was a man willing to tear apart logic and rules and order to help his friend, a fierce loyalty burning like a flame in his blood. A chaotic catalyst so devoted to doing something good.   
  
Essek’s heart thumped eagerly in his chest, warmth spooling out to suffocate his breath.   
  
_Oh._ He blinked.   
  
Maybe Jester was onto something after all.


	2. Jester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your comments, kudos and bookmarks!

The Mighty Nein were considered to be many things by the people of Rosohna; some viewed them as legends, the Heroes of the Dynasty, others were less inclined to welcome them at all, believing them only to be traitors waiting to deliver a fatal blow, that all of their deeds were part of a grander espionage.   
  
Essek often wished to correct those theories, to point out that he did not believe them capable of organising a bender in a brewery, let alone political treason. However, his own infatuation with the group had not gone unnoticed, and he often found himself being included in any snide judgements passed.  
  
With wild theories aside, the Mighty Nein were certainly standing in as faux ambassadors for the Empire, and that did earn them some consideration.  
  
It was natural to assume that this would earn them more recognition, a few more courteous greetings in Court, perhaps deeper bows in passing, a few specks of respect more than the little they had before.  
  
What Essek had not anticipated was that the reputation would see them receive a cordial invitation to the name day celebration of the daughter of the chamberlain. It was rare to celebrate each name day, especially for a woman who was living her second lifetime, but the significant milestones were always honoured and now she was turning eight-hundred.   
  
To surprise him even further, they accepted.  
  
He suspected it may have been Jester, but to see that they were intending to honour the agreement was surreal.  
  
His last visit to their home had greeted him with a general hum of nervous energy, with Yasha pulling him aside to ask what the most in-season way to wear her hair was and a few hastily drawn receipts from the tailor stuck to the kitchen door with tacks.   
  
So, Essek had expected them to show up to the ornate brewery, with the bright-white sparkling lights that hung in high rafters, but he was still surprised to see them step in.  
  
They had mimicked Dynasty fashions well, but not perfectly. Their clothes were styled after the cuts of the lower Dens, with heavy velvet and brighter purples than anything Essek would wear, but he had to admit as he caught their eye across the room and smiled, they wore it remarkably well.   
  
His gaze drew to Caleb first, naturally and inexplicably. Whenever he saw the Nein, his traitorous eyes would subconsciously seek him out.   
  
Caleb looked _good_ . It was undeniable. The bright hair had been pulled back into a neater ponytail than the one he wore when they studied together, the few strands that framed his face intentionally erratic and perfect. The cobalt of the evening jacket perfectly emphasised the deep, expressive blue of his eyes as the intense gaze brushed with Essek’s own, and-  
  
Right, staring. That needed to _stop.  
  
_ Caleb’s thin mouth twitched up into a smile, dimpling the corners, as Essek approached.   
  
It was jarring, the sight of the group alone bore down with the overwhelming ache to step down, to allow himself some comfort amongst his friends. But with equal intensity the eyes of everyone else in the room pierced into him, burning his nape as they watched his interaction with the _Empire_ ambassadors. He wondered if the Nein knew they had been invited simply to be speculation, to provide drunken entertainment and gawking as the evening drew deeper.   
  
“Essek!” Jester’s voice broke the easy lull of the room, the soft bassy instruments tuned out by the jovial cheer. “You need to dance with me, you do dance, right?”  
  
Her dress whirled around her, the heavy fabric shifting with the excited bouncing of her body. A bright pink ribbon was threaded through her hair and rose to wrap like a serpent around the curve of her horn. As Essek threw a customary wave to the rest of the group he noticed a twin ribbon braided into Caduceus' wispy flowing hair.  
  
“I, well-” He held his hands up contritely, fingers almost brushing Jester as she crowded into his space. He glanced awkwardly down to where his feet hovered above the panelled floor and shrugged one shoulder awkwardly in the way he had learned from Beauregard. “I can move my hands quite well?”  
  
She snorted at the comment, one wry eyebrow curling towards her hairline.   
  
“Can’t you just like, y’know,-” She made a low noise in her throat, pointing at the floor and waving her hand. “-Take a break? It’ll be fast!”  
  
“Oh, I-” Essek cleared his throat, voice suddenly stifled. He glimpsed over his shoulder, taking in the populated room. A small crowd hovered near the bar, chatting idly amongst themselves. Others were scattered throughout the room in the low booths and perched at tables. The chamberlain’s daughter was drifting from group to group, throwing out greetings and accepting drinks. So many eyes, so many judgements-  
  
“Ah, Jester-” Caleb interjected, pressing close enough for his soft voice to be heard over the din of music and idle talk. He placed a gloved hand lightly on the woman’s shoulder. “You know that is a bad idea.”   
  
“Oh, alright. But Caleb then _you_ have to dance with me, you’re so good at it!” Jester said, face fluttering between a pout to a pleading grin within a matter of seconds.   
  
Caleb looked from the imploring flutter of her eyelashes to the scarcely occupied dance floor, a worried frown creasing his mouth. Essek noticed that he twined his fingers together nervously, picking at the tattered lip of the fingerless glove before looking very seriously to Fjord.  
  
“Get me a drink-” He turned suddenly to Essek, face set with the determined little scowl that worked a crease into his forehead. Often during their lessons Essek wished to smooth it away with his thumb- “What’s the strongest drink here?”  
  
Essek blinked, reclaiming his wandering focus. “Probably a cocktail? The caipirissima, perhaps?”  
  
“Get me two.” Caleb said to Fjord, very seriously.  
  
“Right-oh.” Fjord nodded, lips jerking upwards as Jester giggled and clutched at Caleb’s hand, pulling him closer to the band and the other dancing bodies.  
  
“I will assist you.” Essek said, finally drawing his eyes away from the two and turning to fully meet the other man’s gaze. 

They were granted a wide berth as they approached the bar; plenty of folk threw a considering gaze towards Fjord and, he supposed, the Shadowhand too. But once they were satisfied with their gawking they were content to draw back into their previous conversations, turning their finely dressed backs to them.  
  
“I must confess, I am glad that you all decided to come tonight.” Essek said, placing his hands against the cool marble of the bar top.  
  
‘I do not know how I would have passed the evening without you.’ He did not say, although he felt that Fjord had heard the words regardless, because the man barked his deep, rich laugh.  
  
“We couldn’t leave you high and dry out here.” Fjord grinned, turning to address the bartender as they approached. He rattled off a list of confusing requests, asking after ale - when really they should be sticking to wine for such an occasion - a collection of cocktails and, confusing but unsurprising, two glasses of milk.  
  
Essek pressed his mouth into a thin-lipped smile as the woman taking the order raised a wry brow at the request, dark eyes glancing towards him as if to determine whether or not they were playing a tasteless joke.  
  
“Very well, then.” She nodded firmly to Essek, glancing toward Fjord for a brief moment as if considering doing the same, before turning promptly and beginning to make the drinks.  
  
Fjord brushed the insult off with ease, as if he had not even noticed the slight against him, and turned instead to look over the room. Essek followed his gaze, easily falling onto Caleb and Jester running through the steps of a strange dance together. They were the brightest couple in the room by far, with Jester’s light puffy dress and Caleb’s flame-red hair.   
  
“They are very good. Is that a popular dance in the Empire?” Essek asked, eyes locked on the military straight line of Caleb’s shoulders, the way his mouth was quirked up into a contented smile as he manoeuvred them easily across the floor. Jester stumbled after him, teeth flashing white as she grinned, seeming to chase after his movements in the dance. It was an entertaining flourish, with long steps and Jester’s skirts spinning outwards.  
  
“Oh, naw.” Fjord snorted, fondness melding his tone into something soft. “Caleb probably knows the steps but… Jester is just doing her own sorta thing.”  
  
“Ah.” Essek felt his mouth tease into a smile, despite his best intent to stifle the expression.   
  
The dance was so very different from anything he had seen, more fluid and jovial, with so many turns that Essek began to worry that they would get dizzy. But they just kept going, never once faltering in any way that mattered. Eventually Beauregard and Nott joined them as their drinks trickled out, and a glass of something sweet was handed to him without further comment; he did not even look down to check, too busy tracing the lines of Caleb’s body as he threw his head back to laugh at something Jester said.  
  
His heart twisted, a heated fist grasped his gut and squeezed.   
  
“Why aren’t you dancing, again?” Fjord interjected, drawing his attention back. When Essek met his eye his mouth was twisted into a frown, two flecks of white tusk peeking from behind his lip.  
  
“That would require footwork that I am unable to provide at this time.” Essek shrugged, willing the flushing burn that crept across his shoulders to cease. He was almost certain that he could hear Caleb chuckling in the din of the party, but he knew that was almost impossible.  
  
“Next dinner night we’ll set up a dance area, get the harp out.” Beauregard said, brushing her knuckles along his shoulder in an aborted attempt at a punch.  
  
“Can’t you just go over and, I don’t know-” Fjord waved his arms loosely between them, making a long, whiny noise- “do some arm work or something?”  
  
“Even so, I regret that you do not know our dances… nor I yours, for that matter.” Essek dismissed.  
  
“Well I’m sure he’ll show you, can’t be so hard.” Fjord said, taking a thoughtful sip of his drink.  
  
 _He’ll.  
  
_ Essek swallowed firmly against the knot that formed in his throat, pulse hammering against the tender skin.   
  
“It was Jester who asked me to dance.” Essek breathed, fingers beginning to sting with the intensity of his grip on his glass.  
  
“Yeah but if you want to learn you’ll have to ask Caleb, Jester’s good ‘n all but she won’t give you a moment to breathe, let alone pick the finesse up.” Fjord smirked, then shrugged one large shoulder. “He’ll probably do it, especially if you offer one of those fancy lessons again.”   
  
Essek could not bite back the startled little hissing sputter, nor could he refrain from throwing nervous glances over his shoulders to make sure that no one but the Mighty Nein were in the vicinity.   
  
“May I remind you that such lessons are _private._ ” Essek huffed, then took a deep, grounding inhalation and stared pointedly at Fjord’s chin as he continued. “I do not want to treat that as something to be traded. I do not wish to make it seem like anything is owed for my time. Not with those lessons, not with-”  
  
Essek bit off the sentence, the words - the _name_ \- curling on his tongue. Fjord seemed to hear that too, however, because he awkwardly raised a fumbling hand to clink their glasses together with a _dink.  
  
_ “Hey.” Fjord said, and Essek allowed himself to meet the man’s eye. There was none of the expected grievance there, no deep frown or sneer. Rather, his eyes had softened at the corners, his bright gaze remarkably soft in the low lighting. “If it means anything he would probably do it for free. Might want to wait until we’re home though, he gets all skittish and shit in public.”  
  
Essek frowned, mulling the thought over. Would it truly be so simple as to end one of their lessons with the request? Would Caleb truly take his hand in the torch lit parlour of their home, pull him close to the heat of his lithe frame and teach his in-eloquent legs how to step? Perhaps he would even laugh, as he did with Jester, soft mouth twisting with mirth and his eyes crinkling as he smiled, intense gaze meeting his own.  
  
With a huff, Essek finished the last dregs of his drink, savouring the bitter tang. It was foolish, to imagine that such things were possible. Why would he ask the man to learn an Empire dance in the first place? Why, also, would he wish to embarrass himself so by fumbling about on legs that he was just familiarising with walking once again?   
  
The entire plot was ridiculous, but he at least had comfort in knowing the idea wasn’t entirely his own. Fjord - The Mighty Nein - had outrageous ideas all of the time, he just hoped that the time he spent with their Den was not leading him down a similar path.   
  
Jester’s bright laughter sparked through the room, drawing Essek’s attention as he glanced up to see them bringing the dance to an end. They both pulled away from one another, joined only by clasping hands and falling to a stillness that was surprisingly timed to a beat from the band.   
  
Then, with her mouth still curled with a smile, Jester bowed low at the waist and pressed a kiss to Caleb’s hand.   
  
Essek, shameless and hating himself for it, could imagine the coarse groove of the skin, knuckles scarred from scraps that the man had not named. If only he could be permitted to press his lips to the patch of skin, to soothe the stories out of him with small comforts.  
  
Perhaps, if all Empire dances ended in such a manner, it would be worth asking for a lesson after all.


	3. Fjord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your wonderful comments - they mean the world to me!

Somehow dinner with the Mighty Nein became a regular occurrence.   
  
Whenever they were staying in their Xhorhas residence for more than a few hours, they would stock up the pantry and Essek would receive a flamboyantly eager message from Jester that he was invited over. It eventually came to a point where it was expected, where he would hear news of their arrival and would spend the remainder of his day trailing around with a strange eager stiffness to his shoulders, intentionally clearing space in his evening schedule as he waited for the invitation to arrive.   
  
There is always a worry, unpleasant and terrible, that they will not invite him the next time, that their meals are just a courtesy for convenience and to maintain appearances. Yet, Jester’s voice always pierces his mind at some point in the day, the first inflection of her shrill tone swelling his chest with such overwhelming relief that he has to allow himself a moment to pause, to take a grounding breath and remind himself that this is what friends do.  
  
He was getting too attached, he decided as he knocked against the ornately carved door of the Mighty Nein's manor. People were beginning to notice his fondness was becoming more than professional, that business and pleasure were no longer so distilled. He should try to distance himself, if only to protect the dignity that he has from crumbling down. Everything that his name is he has had to agonisingly build from the ground up. He had no predecessors to lay the foundations, no ancient history of a prior great Soul to make him who he is. Everything that Essek has has been constructed over only a few centuries, and he needs to preserve that-  
  
Inside the building there is a tumble of footsteps, muffled voices shouting to one another in thick accents and the unpleasant strumming (read: butchering) of a harp.  
  
Essek just found it dreadfully difficult to stay away.   
  
The door swings open ahead of him, the faint tingling of the awning bell ringing in his ears. Beauregard stares at him for a moment, dark gaze instinctively dropping down to where his feet hover just above the porch. Her mouth twists into a subdued smile, jaw clenched as if she is struggling to hold it back. A purple welt has formed just beneath the crease of her eye, mottled against her dark skin.  
  
“Are you alright?” Essek asked, moving toward her and into the threshold of the house. Beauregard lets the door sweep closed behind him, slamming hard as he turned to check over her fully in the light.  
  
“Yeah?” Beauregard frowned, following his gaze and tenderly raising a hand to press against the injury. The corners of her eyes crease with a pained wince, before she brazenly shrugs it off. “We had a little bit of trouble with some asshole bandits on the way back, but we’re all still alive so you know-” her voice pitched into a hollow, emotionless drawl-” _hooray._ ”  
  
“Right.” Essek bit out, hands flexing nervously by his side. The injury wasn’t serious, and he was certain that they had faced worse, but the inflamed puff of her skin still caused his heart to twinge with worry. “If you want I can-”  
  
“You’re here to eat.” Beauregard snapped, not unpleasantly. She was abrasive, certainly, but not unfamiliar. Her mannerism was the way Essek had spoken throughout the entirety of his hundred-and-tens, so utterly convinced that the world was his enemy.   
  
“Alright, if you would like. I suppose that I would not be much good at that, anyway.” He dismissed.  
  
Beauregard frowned, eyebrow lurching towards her hairline with a startling intensity. “Hey, were you just sarcastic with me?”  
  
“Did it work?” Essek asked, hands twisting together nervously where they were hidden beneath the sleeves of his outer-robe.   
  
To his surprise she laughed, startled and stunted, as if it had been punched out of her with force, but a genuine laugh all the same. Essek smiled tightly as she shook her head at him, disbelief colouring her tone.   
  
“Gods, no.” She smirked, reaching out a heavy hand to clasp his shoulder. His skin tingled at the warmth, and the second she withdrew he wished desperately for the touch to return. “We can work on it, I’ll get you to levels of sarcastic intensity that will be unrivalled.”  
  
“That would be - I, well - alright.” Essek stammered, tongue fumbling to find the exact words to process his churning thoughts. He only remembered belatedly to drop his feet firmly down to the wooden floors, the scrape of his boot heel unnerving and foreign to his ears.   
  
The dining table was already lined with their copper plates, peppered with familiar produce and grazing bites: fruit, a few vegetables that _certainly_ were not in season but it wasn’t like they would know any better, cheeses and chutneys. Essek sat slowly in the chair that he always occupied, the one that they intentionally left for him- _his_ chair.  
  
He had a place with this Den, he had a seat at their table. The thought was jarring and surreal.  
  
To be wanted by a family in his first life, when he had proven nothing?   
  
Yasha was still picking intently at the harp, the instrument propped in her large lap. The music paused briefly as she threw a wave towards him, but the string work quickly continued after he nodded in turn.   
  
Jester was bowed over the open pages of her journal, a collection of paints dotted around her and a brush deftly moving between her fingers. Beauregard took the seat to her left, directly opposite Essek, and not-so-subtly peered down to look at her drawing.   
  
“So, Essek.” Jester said, not glancing up for a moment. “Do you draw?”  
  
“Do I-” Essek bit out, feeling the tension seep from his form as he stared at her, jaw slack. “No. I have no need. There are many talented artists in the Dynasty but I am afraid that I am not among their ranks.”  
  
“What do you do for fun, though?” Jester pressed.  
  
“Well I have my research, and my studies to attend to. In addition to serving as a Shadowhand I have little time for much else-”  
  
“What about when you get bored during your studies, like you’re waiting for something to finish brewing? You’ve _never_ gotten so bored that you’ve doodled anything down?” Jester asked, voice wrung with an inflection of genuine concern, as if his lack of artistic abilities was deeply troubling.   
  
“I just… do not get bored during research?” He said, losing confidence as he spoke so that the statement dropped into a question.   
  
A snort interrupted the conversation, and Essek glanced toward Beauregard only to discover that she was glancing up, beyond his shoulder. Essek turned to peer behind, finding that Caleb had emerged from a doorway. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, but his eyes sparked with a jovial energy. There was _so_ much to his eyes.  
  
A prickle of heat began to creep along the back of Essek’s neck, flushing down his shoulders in a cascading burn as Caleb approached.  
  
He pulled out a chair and plopped down with an exhausted sigh, raising a hand to work the meat of his shoulder with a rough massage. Essek followed the motion carefully, noted the red graze that crawled over his knuckles.  
  
“Are you all injured?” Essek asked, startling when Caleb glanced towards him with a slight frown. He had not meant to be still looking- he did not mean to watch-  
  
His gaze snapped towards Beauregard, who wore a similar frown as Caleb. Children of the Empire were so _strange_ , such similar mannerisms, such similar features with their broad noses and round ears.  
  
“A little bit.” Jester nodded, not once glancing up. Her pretty face was softened with a smile. “We’re just all very exhausted, we had to walk for like two whole days, Essek. It was _very_ unpleasant. We could have had a break, but-”  
  
“We did not have time to stop.” Caleb said, softly. Looking at Jester directly, gaze intense and so very warm, eyes creased softly at the corners. “I would have if there was a chance.”  
  
“If you’re all so tired why insist on hosting?” Essek asked, concern burrowing deep in his chest and scraping it raw with worry. He knows they only arrived at the Lucid Bastion a few hours ago, scarcely enough time to travel back and to arrange for food.   
  
“It’s dinner night.” Jester said, as if it were that remarkably simple.   
  
_This was for him._ Essek released with a start that pierced his heart like a blade, cold and twisting and terrifying. A warmth spread just below the hurt, swaddling his chest and causing a bubble of genuine happiness to brew.   
  
“Anyway, we obviously have more pressing concerns.” Jester insisted, pushing a loose swatch of paper towards Essek with a determined frown. A stick of charcoal was deposited heavily by his hand, chalky black powder smearing his fingers as he picked it up to look at it. When he glanced back towards Jester she waved a hand insistently at him, making a noise low in her throat.  
  
“C’mon, just try it out!”   
  
As Essek glanced down at the white page his mind fell distractedly blank. He threw his gaze around the room, landing on each object and person with a knot of worry in his throat. Yasha continued to play, eyes downcast and torrents of thick hair pouring down her shoulders. Beauregard watched him with poorly veiled interest, kohl lined eyes smudged with tiredness, and Jester and Caleb were staring at the paper intently. His eyes lingered on Caleb for a moment too long, fingers tightening on the pencil in his grasp. Even bruised and with eyes punched dark with exhausted bruises he was handsome, and Essek wished in that moment that he had enough artistic capability to capture the image of the man permanently.   
  
There was a flash of movement at the end of the table, as Frumpkin leaped up to splay himself out with an exaggerated feline yawn. Very well then, he hummed as he pressed the pencil to the paper, he could maybe try to draw a cat. It was must less ambitious than trying to immortalise the minor curl of Caleb's hair where it brushed the pale nape of his neck.   
  
Jester clapped her hands brightly the moment the pencil made contact to the page, startling him with a shudder. Eventually, he eased into the process, eyes flicking upward constantly to reassure himself that _yes, it still looked like that_ and his hand fumbled clumsily over the page. The vision rested in his mind, Frumpkin curled ahead of him, but the lines struggled to connect, coming out disjointed and well… decidedly bad.  
  
“Essek!” Jester shouted, as he withdrew his hand and frowned down at his attempt- no, not attempt, his _defacing_ of the familiar. “That is _so_ good.” Jester insisted, even as Essek fought off the urge to rip the paper to shreds on the spot.   
  
Maybe Caleb would burn it, for having the audacity to draw his cat so poorly.  
  
Was it possible to die from embarrassment? Perhaps the Gods would be kind enough to grant that to him now, so that he would not have to remember the weight of Caleb's likely disappointed gaze for at least a decade.   
  
“It’s very modern.” Caleb commented, leering closer to peer at the page. They were not close enough to touch, but the heat that pooled from his body caused Essek’s skin to hum with approving warmth.   
  
“It is… not my best.” Essek said, after a brief hesitation.  
  
“Yeah.” Beauregard nodded, hissing in exaggeration as Jester swatted her arm.  
  
“Beau!” She squeaked, then turning fully to face Essek she sighed. “I can teach you, if you want? I am a very good teacher, oh- and if you pray to the Traveler he can give you like, different talents! Do you want to try? I have a shrine upstairs and everything.”  
  
Flashes of blood rituals and sacrifices and murder sweeped through his mind, topped jarringly off by the thought of God ordained baby-making. Essek frowned, pointedly setting the pencil down.  
  
“Perhaps another time.”  
  
Jester pouted, but thankfully snatched up the pencil and the drawing, folding them away into the leather-bound confines of her journal.  
  
It was just as the art supplies were haphazardly sweeped away that Caduceus pushed in from the kitchen, the cracked door allowing the heated smell of broth and good food to spill into the room. Essek’s stomach tensed, and he failed to recall when he had last eaten a proper meal, let alone a hot one.  
  
Probably the last time they all got together like this.  
  
The Firbolg balanced a collection of plates in his grasp, shadowed by Fjord who held slightly fewer dishes. They were set down at random, a collection of different plates to pick at as the remainder of the Nein took their places at the table. Essek had not even noticed Nott slinking into the room, but she was hunched by Caleb when he risked a furtive glance in that direction.  
  
“You have some really interesting foods here, I grew up with gardens and some of these vegetables still take me by surprise. I tried to talk to them, to ask about growing up but it’s harder when they’re already picked and dead.” Caduceus said, as he began serving himself from the mixture of bowls. The rest of the group followed suit, even Essek forgot formalities and began to freely pick at the more edible offerings.  
  
“You asked the… plants?” Esseks questioned, smiling politely.   
  
“Yes?” Caduceus said, as if Essek were the strange one for questioning it.  
  
“He’s right though, some of these things are real strange.” Fjord insisted, raising a tangled green herb and taking a bite. Essek swallowed hard, almost choking and opening his mouth with a concerned noise.   
  
Fjord frowned, wincing as he continued chewing before pointedly swallowing with a heavy gulp of ale. “Real strange, uh, flavour too.”  
  
“That was aesthetic garnish.” Essek said, feeling the heavy crease in his brow as he frowned. “It is not supposed to be consumed.”  
  
“Oh.” Fjord said, pushing the plate holding the offending item far down the table, where it brushed up alongside the still resting Familiar.   
  
“Frumpkin.” Caleb groused, voice softened at the corners. The cat glanced up with a chirrup. “Do not eat that.”  
  
Frumpkin looked from Caleb’s pointed stare to the plate of green now set before him, he gave a dismissive flick of his tail before laying back down once more, back turned to the meal.  
  
“Smart cat.” Essek said, ignoring Fjord’s irritated _harrumph_ .   
  
The evening passed much as their usual get togethers after that. The food was washed down with wine and a bottle of unlabelled scotch that Nott provided from within the confines of her shrouded cloak. The harp was put away and then gotten back out several times by an array of less and less talented people, until there was a constant screech of abused strings echoing in Essek’s foggy mind. As always, the hot tub was gratuitously mentioned, and heated, and then forgotten about at they played with the harp some more and ribbed each other over shots of the horridly bitter scotch.  
  
“Fjord.” Caleb said, voice heavy with alcohol and sleep deprivation, if the punch-black bruises beneath his eyes were any indication. “I owe you a lot, for today.”  
  
At some point they had stumbled into one of the lounges, outfitted with sofas and cushions. Essek and Yasha sat comfortably too-close-but-too-drunk-to-care on the sofa, while the rest of the Nein were peppered across the floor, propped with pillows and strewn over one another like Den children. The Empire was seemingly so easy with physical touch, nothing truly seemed to be reserved.   
  
“What? Naw.” Fjord snorted, disbelief colouring his tone. “Anytime, Caleb. Anytime and for any one of you.”  
  
Sensing by the drag of his voice that Fjord was about to embark on a stunted speech on his devotion to the group, Beauregard groaned and kicked him softly in the thigh.  
  
“Well.” Caleb reached out, his hand rasping in a loping drag against the dark stubble of Fjord’s jaw. His palm cupped the back of the man’s neck, drawing their foreheads together to touch lightly. Fjord moved slowly, drunken brain struggling to keep up with the motions. “I appreciate it.”  
  
Essek stared unabashedly, watching the way Caleb’s strange fire-bright hair twisted down over one shoulder, the way all tension eased for just a moment from his face. His bright eyes screwed shut and mouth opening just slightly to breathe.   
  
Then, Fjord dipped his head just so, enough that their lips almost appeared to brush at the corner, the press of his tusks against skin was definitely visible.   
  
Caleb reeled back, eyes flaring open and hand hanging dejectedly between them. He threw his eyes around every person in the room, gaze briefly brushing with Essek’s, and even that was enough to send a pang of jealous, sparking energy pulsing in his veins.   
  
“You don’t, uh, kiss.” Caleb stammered, pulling his hands back to clasp nervously ahead of him.   
  
“Oh. _Shit_.” Fjord breathed out, bright eyes widening with shock. “I am so sorry, Caleb. I swear I didn’t know - I wasn’t trying anything, that’s just how you do it in the Menagerie Coast.”  
  
“That’s true, by the way.” Jester sing-songed, throwing her arms up as she reclined back into her mound of pillows. "He wasn't just trying to come up with a reason to make-out with you. I mean-" She hesitated, pressing a finger ponderously to her chin and tapping it- "he _could_ be trying to."  
  
"You are very handsome, Caleb." Nott slurred, maw twisting into a crooked smile.   
  
"Yeah! Isn't that right, Essek?" Jester probed, her intense gaze whirling around to meet Essek's own.   
  
His heart pulsed in his throat, a knot that almost suffocated him as the weight of every set of eyes fell upon him. He felt the nervous energy trill in his veins, tingling along his skin like ice. He made a low, confused noise in his throat before staring pointedly at the wall, watching the distorted shadows cast down by the torch light.  
  
"I suppose so? I do not have a broad range of erm, references for the current beauty standards in the Empire but... I, he is not entirely unappealing-" He fought the urge to cover his face, feeling the skin burn molten hot. He dared not to glance towards Caleb, to risk seeing the confusion or worse, any realisation dawn across his face.  
  
Essek frowned as Fjord and Caleb awkwardly fumbled apart, putting much more distance between them than had been there before the little interaction. They were all so _curious_ , he couldn’t imagine touching someone so intimately as a greeting or a throwaway gesture in the Dynasty. The looks they would get, if they were to press their foreheads together or to kiss in public, as if they were lovers.   
  
But that only meant that they were friends in Fjord's homeland, and Essek was their friend, now. He wondered what it would be like if they were to do that to him, the warm press of another person, the gentle touch of lips. How wonderful it would feel if they were to do that to him in front of others, for people to know that he was valued and wanted.  
  
Essek swallowed pointedly, taking a long sip of the remainder of his wine. It curled bitter and heavy on his tongue, lacking all the sweet ripeness of the drinks he was accustomed to. He should really leave, if his thoughts were flopping into such needy places already.   
  
“Does anyone keep the time?” He asked, already rising on heavy feet. Part of him did not expect to meet the ground, and his entire body flinched at the contact.  
  
Caleb snapped his fingers, drawing his attention firmly, and the man spoke with weighted exhaustion. “It’s two-thirty.”  
  
Essek grimaced, setting his glass down with a thunk. “I have much work tomorrow.”  
  
“Hey, we might see you there, buddy.” Beauregard smiled openly now, settling down into the burrow of blankets that Jester was curled into.   
  
“Do not take this as an offence in any way, but, I think it would be better for my productivity if you did not.” Essek said, feeling a trill of happy energy when Beauregard laughed.  
  
“I will walk you to the door.” Caleb said, attempting to stumble to his feet. He made it to a half-crouched position before Caduceus interjected, gently.   
  
“It’s alright, I can show him out.” The man soothed, standing up and showing Essek to the exit that he knew well enough by now.  
  
Caduceus was still entirely sober, and was thus still able to hold a conversation, however one-sided it was. He did not seem to mind that Essek’s replies were delayed and hesitant, spoken through a hazy shroud of supressive cotton.   
  
“If it would be alright with you, I would love to head to the market with someone who is familiar with the fauna. It might help me make something edible next time.” He said, as they reached the front door, just as intricately carved on the interior as it was on the outside.   
  
“Sure.” Essek hesitated, but nodded softly. Shopping with the Mighty Nein would do nothing to quell the rumours of his bias, but his stomach throbbed with a queasy thrill at the thought of those opinions. A spark of excitement at getting to spend time with this Den like they were his own, to take on domestic tasks just for the joy of sharing a moment with them.   
  
It did not help that in all of these quick, drunken imaginings Caleb was there, muttering softly with his subdued smirk and bright eyes and quick silver tongue.  
  
“I’m sure Caleb will appreciate having a decent meal in Xhorhas for a change, instead of just sandwiches and cupcakes.” Caduceus said, punctuated by the soft tinkling of the bells above as he pulled open the door.   
  
Essek hesitated on the cusp, hands tightening into clenched fists and he only belatedly remembered to step into his regular levitating posture.   
  
“I am sure that you would all appreciate it, yes.” He stammered, eyes transfixed suddenly on the ground between them.  
  
“Sure.” Caduceus shrugged, soft cow-like ears bouncing and drooping with the motion. The expression in those bovine eyes seemed too akin to pity for Essek to tolerate, so he nodded his head in farewell and turned quickly to return to his house.  
  
He did _not_ look forward to waking up in four hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, mis-interpreted forehead touches are my favourite kiss tropes.


	4. Caduceus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, thank you all so much for your wonderful comments and for taking the time to kudos. <3

It always came to the same conclusion: eventually, the Mighty Nein were called upon to travel away.   
  
Each time Essek hoped that perhaps it would be different, that they too can feel the pleasant pang of familiar warmth that swells and ebbs in his veins like a humming mantra. But, although they have learned the etiquette somewhat, and they are excellent at copying the styles in a haphazard and minorly endearing way, they are and always will be children of the Empire.  
  
Caleb can prostrate himself before the Bright Queen time and time again, harrowed voice making solemn oaths before the entire Court, but in the end they always slink back to their homeland, and Essek finds himself alone once more.  
  
How could he compete with that? With the radiant white sunlight that bruises Caleb’s skin pink and mottled with freckles, that flushes Beauregard’s skin even warmer with colour? Rosohna’s blunt fauna could not compare to the bounteous plush jungles of Caduceus' stories, drenched in shades of green that Essek had only ever seen in fabric or gems. How could their tangled landscapes of dust and ruined architecture rival the open blue seas of Fjord and Jester’s home, capped with frothy white waves that Essek had managed to glimpse from beneath the respite shade of Jester’s parasol?  
  
Essek dearly loved his city, a network of calculated beauty that despite the perils was still alive. Outside the stained windows of his study the moonlight cascaded in a thick silver curtain across the jagged black architecture, splaying out like a speckled nebula of stars. A bell tower chimed dully in the distance, a droning wail that caused his head to pound unpleasantly in sync with the braying noise.   
  
He was just concerned that the Mighty Nein did not care for this land as much as the Empire they claimed not to serve.   
  
Ah, but he was being cruel. There was no fault in loving something, even if you knew of the faults. Failure came only in allowing those issues to fester, and to consume all the good, until all you knew was wrongness.   
  
The Mighty Nein were the only children of the Empire that Essek had ever met who wanted that change, who battled and bled for that progress. Had his business and pleasure truly become so merged that he was trying to warp politics into a game of favourites?  
  
It was not as if he would not hear from them again, it was simply a matter of insufferable time. He just jealously wished they would stay in their estate for longer than the span of a few days. A few of them wore tired eyes, punched dark with black bruises, but it never stopped them from ambling along after one another in a series of misadventures that Essek was occasionally made privy to thanks to Jester’s habit of contacting him to keep him vaguely updated.   
  
That was, updated in regards to how she was feeling and a brief synopsis of whatever novel she was picking through. Regardless of whether or not he quite liked the sound of some of the books, he would have preferred it if she at least let him know they were all safe before she barrelled into her lavish descriptions of swashbuckling broad-chested Orcs.   
  
Their absence left a void in his days that he was not used to. Before they stumbled into his life Essek was never aware of the suffocating silence of his own home. He did not mind being a companion to himself, but he could feel that changing, pulsing in his bones, a desperate need to reach out to these people and be known.  
  
It was strange, too, the way his fingers would itch when he heard a good joke passed between guardsmen who had not noticed his presence, ingrained with a desire to share it himself.   
  
Except Jester was gone again, and he had no one else to tell it to.   
  
He _could_ message her. It would be vastly inappropriate, for he could be imposing on anything with those people, the odds of them being in a tavern versus facing down some eldritch creature were about evenly split. But, he could do it all the same.   
  
She likely would not appreciate his pestering, though. He needed to stop acting like such a needy child, to cease from becoming the thing that he was working vehemently to prove he was no longer.   
  
So, with a difficulty that he had not expected, Essek forced himself to relent back into the routine that he used to keep. It was a little colder, coloured darker by the shades of the people he was missing despite his best efforts not to dwell on it.   
  
And if Essek would spend his evenings reclined in his research tower, picking idly through a spellbook and writing up scraps of magic he could show to Caleb on his return, the only people who would notice his absence were on the other side of the world.

\---

It was remarkably simple to forget how dangerous their jobs were, that every day did not present mortal danger, just as it was easier to imagine that his friends were infallible.  
  
The Lucid Bastion was an imposing pillar, with halls so silent that a hushed murmur seemed to echo across the old stones like a song. In their highly mounted chandeliers the sputtering of the wicks in candles was audible, the crackling wisp of flame, and the occasional distant slamming of doors.   
  
This silence, Essek supposes, is what made the screaming all the more terrible.  
  
The sound grew in an awful crescendo, voices falling atop one another and the crinkle-crunch of chain mail clad guards hurrying about with their heavy tread. At the other end of the dim hall Essek saw one of the doors creak open, and the stern face of their cofferer peered down towards the open maw of the stairwell.   
  
It was coming from the basements. It was coming from the teleportation chambers.  
  
Essek _knew_ , his pulse hitching in his throat until he could hear the panicked thumping of pounding blood, he knew they had no arrivals due today. That only one band of mercenaries would arrive without daring to announce the intention first.  
  
He was hurrying down the stairs before his reeling mind realised, paperwork for his meeting crunched and creased in the intensity of his trembling grasp. As he tumbled out into the sculpted marble awning of the corridor the noise seemed only to grow more intense, voices crashing over one another and thick Dynasty accents spewing words that Essek’s mind would not put together.  
  
He caught only snippets, ‘encroach’ and ‘stand’ and then, in a much louder tone, a demanding cry: ‘healer.’   
  
They burned incense in the Lucid Bastion, swatches of lavender and marjoram to maintain a pleasant mind. But as Essek pushed further down the corridor the only scent that affronted him was the metallic pang of blood.  
  
A bustle of guards were fretting about the mouth of the teleportation chamber, and Essek did not feel a thing as he shouldered passed one of the lower ranking guards. His skin was unpleasantly numb, a chill that nipped his flesh until he couldn’t feel anything but the low swoop of his gut as it lurched in mild panic.  
  
It was the action of peering into the room that made Essek realise he was truly a terribly selfish man, because he wished in that moment that it would be anyone other than his people crowded there.  
  
“Oh, Yasha.” Jester said, hands cupping the sallow cheeks of the larger woman. The dark smudge of her warpaint was smeared down over one cheek, a plume of red distorting the colour. One eye was swollen and ruddy, wetly squinting as the woman hunched and swayed on her large feet, propped up against her monstrous sword.  
  
“What happened - are you well?” Essek asked, startled by how his voice carried, the _shout_ echoing in the chamber. He realised only belatedly that the guards fell uniformly silent at his presence. He moved forward, disregarding that his paperwork was now crumpled on the floor.   
  
“Oh, well, you know-” Jester floundered, pulling back to face Essek and to hold her hands placating before her. The soft skin of her palms was streaked crimson with dark blood.  
  
“No.” Beauregard bit out, just as Fjord huffed: “We’ve seen better.”  
  
Essek took that moment to throw his eyes wildly around the group, relief pressing down the twisting worry with each pallid face he took in. Yasha, beaten and swaying; Jester, bloodied and armour stuck like a pincushion with crossbow bolts; Caduceus, shoulders slumped; Beauregard, cradling a hand with swollen fingers; Fjord, bright eyes wincing and nose cringing with each strained breath he took; Nott, a freely bleeding gash along her forearm dripping blood on the pristine marble of the floor; and Caleb…  
  
Caleb with limp locks of hair plastered to his forehead with blood, cloak torn and a feathered crossbow bolt protruding rudely from beneath his collarbone. Essek glanced down to find one of his pale, pale (Caleb was never _that_ pale, was he?) hands clutching Nott’s own with a tremble.   
  
“-Essek.” Caleb said, and _oh_ , all eyes were intently upon him, they had been speaking. Essek pressed further into the room, having to curl his hands into fists to resist the want to reach out to soothe however he could.   
  
“We apologise for imposing as to arrive in such a fashion, I- '' Caleb stammered as he spoke, bright eyes unfocused as he stared intently beyond Essek’s shoulder.   
  
A crunch of armour shifted behind him, and Essek whirled around before he could bridle the displaced anger and frustration brewing in his gut. In an ideal circumstance, he would find whatever or whoever did this to the Nein, but he is perfectly content to settle.   
  
The guard behind him stilled mid-step, three younger recruits watching the exchange and doing nothing to alleviate the hurts. Essek’s gaze fell to the man before him, feeling his voice curl into a snarl as he spoke.  
  
“Were you not told to fetch a healer?” He asked.  
  
“One has already, uhm, been sent for, sir.” The guard sputtered, head ducked towards the floor.  
  
“Then fetch another, and then another, until one deigns it important enough to arrive. And it _is_ important, is it not?” Essek pressed, smoothing his voice into a low question, tone a pointed barb.  
  
“Yes, sir. Yes.” Stammered the guard, who took an infuriating moment to properly salute before turning on his heel and taking off towards the stairs with a clunking jog.  
  
Once the retreating sound of the guard was a dull thud, Essek turned once more to his friends, feeling his heart lurch in sympathy.   
  
“Come, can you move?” Essek asked, allowing his voice to drop from the courtly facade and into a tender murmur.   
  
“We got this far, what’s a few more steps?” Fjord said, gaze turned fully to Caduceus, the half-orc’s large hand resting as a brace to prop up their lithe companion.  
  
“We have a waiting parlour, just down the hall. There will be seats and refreshments. Come.” Essek gestured, dipping his head in a gesture to follow.  
  
“I just want to go home.” Jester whined, her heavy tread thudding along behind Essek all the same. “Why can’t the healers come see us at home?”  
  
“That will take much longer, and I believe it would be much more beneficial for your image if the alleged Heroes of the Dynasty did not trail their blood along the streets of Roshona.” Essek hushed, finally pulling up to the correct room and holding the door for the group to pile in.  
  
It was unused, with the air stagnant and bitterly stale, a sheen of heavy dust coating the plush fainting couches and armchairs. Yasha dragged herself in last, and Essek glanced down the hall to find that the pristine floor was streaked with thickets of mud and splashes of crimson.  
  
“You will let them know we are here immediately.” Essek said, and one of the remaining guards nodded very seriously from where they had resumed their position at the mouth to the teleportation chamber.   
  
Turning back to the room revealed that the Nein had already collapsed amongst the furniture, with the exception only to Beauregard, who paced frantically back and forth along the furthest wall. The coil of her pinned up hair was loose and cascaded down over her shoulder.  
  
“Tell me what happened.” Essek spoke, eyes falling to Jester who had folded herself very daintily up onto the armchair. A dark bruise was beginning to discolour her pretty face, and she was preoccupied with pressing her fingers hesitantly against one of the arrows jutting from her form to test the give.   
  
“So, there were these _things_ in the swamp right, and ‘Duceus was like oh, if we leave them alone they won’t bother us.” Jester began, voice remarkably jovial despite their horrid state.   
  
“I said if they weren’t hungry.” Caduceus interjected, tone hollow and fragile.  
  
“Yeah but these were hungry.” Nott bit out from where she was propped beside Caleb, hand still resting on the man’s forearm.   
  
“Things?” Essek pressed, folding his hands worriedly together until the knuckles cracked and groaned.   
  
“Like little baby snake demons.” Beauregard spat.   
  
“Little baby Hydras.” Caduceus corrected, softly.   
  
“You were attacked by young Hydras?” Essek asked, feeling his forehead crease as his eyebrow arched.   
  
“Nein.” Caleb offered, mouth twitching up softly at the corner to show his white teeth were speckled with blood. “We were mauled by the big mother Hydra.”  
  
“Speak for yourself, those baby ones _do_ have a nip to them.” Fjord said, large hands beginning to smooth over the tattered fabric of his ripped leather boots.   
  
“Excuse me if this seems accusatory but do you not have those capable of healing amongst your own?” Essek asked, forcing his eyes to remain focused on Jester and resolutely away from where Caleb was beginning to try and wiggle the arrow shaft from out of his chest, eyes creased in unspoken agony.   
  
“Well, we are pretty good at it. But it can get so exhausting Essek, and that was even before we ran into the snakes!” Jester protested, shoulders sagging as she spoke. “Then the people who lived with the snakes showed up and it all got so much worse. We just had to get out of there.”  
  
“I might have a tad more to me, if I dig for it.” Caduceus’ voice trembled out, like poorly spun glass on the verge of shattering.   
  
He stood very slowly from where he had been propped on one of the settees, large ears drooping down to brush the top of his shoulders. First, he stumbled over to Jester, and Essek pressed in close, offering his hands belatedly should any support be suddenly needed.   
  
Caduceus took Jester’s hand in his own, the tiny blue limb utterly swamped by the man’s grasp, furred knuckles curling protectively over the scraped skin. The tangle of his pink hair fell loosely over his shoulder as he ducked his head to press his long mouth to the back of her hand. Essek imagined that the wet press of his nose must be dreadfully strange.  
  
“You should pull the bolts while you’re still numb.” Caduceus sighed out, withdrawing heavily from the touch.   
  
“Here Jessie, let me help.” Beauregard called, her frantic pacing slowing into an amble before she fell to Jester’s side.   
  
“Alright, c’mere.” Caduceus continued, stepping across the woven rug and grinding in his muddy boot prints, falling to Caleb’s side. “I can probably get yours too, just be quick.”  
  
Essek pressed closer without consideration, hovering awkwardly as Caleb nodded tersely, jaw jumping with tension as he raised a hand to wrap the gaunt, pale fingers around the shaft of the bolt. Essek’s own fingers twitched, desperate to reach out to try and soothe, even as his heart lurched in sympathy. How desperate had he become, that hurting this man was a pain to him also?  
  
How _dangerous_ had this infatuation become?   
  
This time Caduceus bowed just at the waist, pressing a tender kiss to Caleb’s bloodied forehead. Essek watched as the painful tension ebbed from his face, replaced with a brief flash of the blissful numbness he knew healing magics to possess, then Caleb jerked his arm forward harshly and ripped the bolt from his body.   
  
“Thank you, friend.” Caleb murmured, hand trembling where it was wrapped around the arrow.  
  
“Don’t mention it.” Caduceus flapped a large hand dismissively, swaying as he pulled back to his full height. Essek pressed a hand timidly to his side, the plate of his armour cruel and cold against his palm as he guided him back to his seat and allowed him to flop down heavily.   
  
It was just as Caduceus settled himself again, eyelids drooping low, that their healer fumbled into the room. It was one of the younger girls from a lower Den, having fought for her position tooth and nail with all the magical capabilities she could muster. At the sight of her Essek was relieved, for he doubted that he would have trusted any other with the bloody work. She cast her wide gaze with great trepidation among the group before settling squarely on Yasha with a determined press to her mouth.   
  
Content that she was one of their best, and perhaps not-so-secretly a little enamoured with the Mighty Nein, Essek withdrew and found himself inexplicably and naturally drawn towards Caleb.   
  
“If you are so intent on throwing yourself into the mouth of danger perhaps we should look into getting you some sturdier robes.” Essek murmured, hesitating only briefly before taking a seat in the space next to Caleb. Nott was withdrawn from her role as his shadow, fluttering around Fjord with a disinterested huff and a concerned crease to her brow. Essek allowed a moderately respectable space between he and Caleb, but the brush of warmth was heavy and welcoming. Beneath the stench of grime and gore, Essek could still pick out the curl of parchment and musky Empire earth, the scent that haunted his home and followed him even in dreams.  
  
“I think perhaps-” a grimace creased across Caleb’s face as he shifted, tipping his head enough to glance towards Essek- “a full suit of armour, next time.”   
  
“So you should rattle about like a guard? Where is the panache?” Essek breathed, dipping his voice low so the words only carried between them.   
  
It was one thing for rumours of his bias to be brewing. It would be another monster entirely if the healer overheard the frigid Shadowhand being _fond_ .   
  
Caleb’s mouth dimpled into a smile. “Then I will wear proper fashion, and I will just have to die.”  
  
Despite his efforts to bite it back, Essek felt his mouth curl into a grin, his tongue pressing against the back of his smiling teeth.   
  
“Then I suppose there’s no other option, we’ll have to get you consecuited.” Essek shrugged, watching as Caleb’s soft eyes rounded slightly in surprise.  
  
It had been intended as a simple joke, but Caleb looked toward him with a serious intensity flushing across his face.  
  
“I must confess the thought has… crossed my mind sometimes.” Caleb said, voice almost a whisper between them, the warm breath felt more than truly heard. And when had that happened, when had they ducked close enough to conspire?   
  
“Do you not think it will be strange one day, to have an entirely new body?” His voice was scarcely a sound, the rasping of his fingers as they traced along his bandaged forearms infinitely louder in their limited space.   
  
“Of course, it will be odd at first. But a body is a body, they can be melded and adapted as you please. It is the soul that counts, and the knowledge, the person behind it all. _But,_ you will have to adjust to being a Drow.” Essek gestured loosely to himself, hand curling before his chest.  
  
Caleb’s eyes brushed across his form, intense gaze picking from the point of his ear down to the toe of his boot before the man shrugged his uninjured shoulder.   
  
“I very much doubt I would mind that.” He spoke lowly, tone dipping into something Essek had never truly heard from him before. The tone caused a spike of warm energy to pulse low in his gut, and the same flush that haunted him around this man to cascade down his shoulders like a burn.   
  
Inexplicably, terribly and desperately, Essek wished to kiss him.   
  
It would be so simple to lean across the scant space between them and to press his lips to the man’s forehead, to soothe away the hurt without magic. Because Essek recalled his first decade, of being impossibly small and swaddled up by his mother, how soft kisses could whisk away any hurts. Part of magic was illusion after all, and no hurt could not be comforted by a friend willing to help.  
  
It would be even simpler to move downward, to kiss away the crease of his frown and to map out the touch of his lips. He wondered if the man tasted like strange herbal teas and Jester’s sweets, or whether it would be something entirely new to pick apart and explore.   
  
Essek’s gut clenched, blooding pulsing hot in his veins. Caleb was looking at him expectantly, a pained crease beginning to creep in at the corner of his eye.  
  
Right, of course. Essek wished to curse himself, and he drew back enough to find their healer pressing her hands lightly to Jester’s shoulders, lips moving in an inaudible mantra.  
  
“Could we please receive some attention here?” Essek asked, tongue almost stumbling over the words after having spoken so quietly.   
  
“Mister Clay has informed me on who has already received attention, and I intend to work in order of severity.” She stated, voice pert and iron-hard, trembling only at the corners. It was almost impressive too, to have spoken back against his request.  
  
"I will be alright." Caleb said.  
  
“Very well.” Essek dismissed, softly.   
  
Yasha had been fully attended to, the larger woman idly flexing her fingers with a soft frown, as if dreadfully surprised that all of the digits were still functional. She had ducked into a low corner of the room, exiling herself from the idle chatter that was beginning to bubble up as their energy was restored. Her hair and pale skin was distorted by dried blood, the deep gash across her forehead knitted together and smoothed back into an even patch of irritated skin.  
  
“Excuse me.” Essek turned hesitantly to Caleb, who held his gaze for an intense moment, the brief meeting of their eyes feeling like a strike to the jaw.  
  
Essek almost forgot not to walk as he pulled himself up again, so at ease in their company that he forgot they were not entirely alone. A tiny, throbbing irritation pulsed in the tension of his muscles, wishing for a moment to relax.   
  
He approached Yasha slowly, allowing the woman to acknowledge his presence before he fell to her side. She had been through so much recently, more than Essek could fathom. To have your mind toyed with, to not even know yourself and for everything you are to be at the mercy of another? Essek could not begin to imagine the torment, and yet, here she stood, still bumbling and timid, as if she felt guilty about the violation.  
  
“I’m glad that you are well.” Essek greeted.  
  
“I have been better.” She shrugged one behemoth shoulder. “Thank you for your help.”  
  
Essek almost did not process the words, mouth opening before he could rein in his tongue.  
  
“You are all my- my-” he glanced backwards, towards the healer, before turning more firmly to look at Yasha. -“my wards, it is my responsibility to ensure your well being.”  
  
“He’ll be alright.” Yasha sighed, finally lifting her gaze to meet Essek’s own, mis-matched eyes flecked with remarkable softness. “But, I do understand your worry."  
  
The woman hesitated, a stark blankness dancing across her gaze and her lip jutting with thought. After a brief flash of the expression it was smoothed away, and Yasha took a very serious breath before speaking lowly.   
  
"Zuala, my wife, she was always so reckless, throwing herself into the fray so, so often. She taught me that bravery, she needed me to learn. But it was always her getting hurt, no matter how much I worked-” she laughed softly, an almost inaudible huff of a chuckle- “I used to make our healers so mad, with my pacing. I would rub grooves into the ground, but I suppose _you_ will have no problem with that.”  
  
Essek opened his mouth, feeling his lips twist into a frown. His mind was pulsing with thought, different threads of excuses and niceties brewing up on his tongue before he bit them back.   
  
“I want for you all to be well.” Essek said, finally biting out a huff of words. He ducked his head bashfully, entirely aware that he had skirted neatly around the entire point of her story. If there was anything being the youngest of his Den had taught him, it was how to be intentionally obtuse.   
  
“But one more than others.” Yasha said, voice coloured soft and wry.  
  
“I have no favourites.” Essek said, truthfully.   
  
“But this doesn’t count as favourites, not really.” Yasha protested. “It’s different.”  
  
She knew. Nearly everyone knew, apparently. That Essek’s infatuation and social inability to interpret his own twisting, bitter emotions had let him down so much so that he was only just now beginning to realise that he wanted to be with Caleb for more than study, for more than friendship. The barrel of his chest felt hollow, his heart suspended in dread and prickling embarrassment.   
  
“If it is reassuring, he is used to being shot. He will be fine.” Yasha offered, after a tense moment of silence.  
  
His palms balled into fists, stomach giving a terrified griping twist. Caleb had been shot before? Enough that he was used to it? He ached to fall back to the man’s side, to offer soothing words and soft touches. Then, his heart ached painfully because those thoughts probably meant that Yasha was right.   
  
This thing with Caleb was something else, it was something more.   
  
And that was utterly terrifying.   
  
“That is not consolation.” Essek whispered, unsure as to what he was truly referring to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is absolutely inspired by that one theory that clerics can heal via kisses. Tell me that Caduceus didn't spend time as a kid healing his family by kissing scraped knees and sore thumbs.


	5. Beauregard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got about 3k out of hand and I can't decide whether that's a good thing or not. also I know Drow technically go into a haze rather than a proper sleep, but that's not a sacrifice I'm willing to make. 
> 
> thank you for your wonderful comments and kudos!!
> 
> now with 20% more shovel talks!

The property was old, with rustic foundations that had reared many noble members of their society. The bastions of the tower loomed decadent and proud, cast in striking stone and garnished with delicate filigree admonishments that flickered like molten silver as it caught the moonlight. It had been a cold beast, a factory that churned out proper families with proper children who would adapt and thrive in civilised society.   
  
Now, a tree had sprouted through the tiled ceiling, draping down like a fringe to kiss its branches against the drain pipes.  
  
Now, there was a brass plate hammered at an angle on the front stoop, naming the building the Xhorhouse.  
  
Now, for the very first time, the building that had reared so many was thriving with life and with familial warmth.   
  
The interior was still kept much too bright, with flecks of light suspended in the high rafters, and knotted into each and every alcove, pooling into radiant pools in the cracks and grooves of the cladding. The Nein seemed to dearly miss their sunlight, and so they were seemingly determined to bundle that blinding brightness into the halls of their decrepit manor, flushing out the interiors until they were golden.  
  
Essek and Caleb often took their lessons in the guest parlour, where there were beacons mounted on the walls and a few dim candles sputtering on the low coffee table. Two plush settees faced one another across the table, where Essek had strewn out his journals and books, sharp swipes of his curling handwriting flashing across the pages.   
  
Caleb was an excellent student, back pulled taught and straight, entirely still as Essek would pour over his notes and lessons. The only movement was the almost invisible hitch of his chest as he breathed and the occasional moment he would take the rub his fingers over the soft material of his robe, when he was lost deep in thought.   
  
Some people were simply born to study. Even in the Empire they had circles of scholars, like Beauregard’s Cobalt Soul. Although, she seemed much too boisterous to blend with the Dynasty’s circle of scribes. For a moment, Essek allowed himself to imagine the downright carnage that would be setting the Nein upon the study hall in the Lucid Bastion, a shudder jolting through his body like a nipping frost.   
  
No, he decided, he quite enjoyed having his head attached to his body. It was not worth the joke.  
  
Jester was pulled up onto the settee opposite them, a flutter of bright movement in his peripheral as he angled himself toward Caleb to discuss their lessons. He did not mind her presence, although she did not seem to have much flair for the types of magic he was divulging. If not for her overwhelming presence Essek is not sure he would be able to do anything but helplessly stare at Caleb’s clever fingers as he mimicked the motions, or the soft curve of his mouth as he muttered incantations.  
  
Jester kept him focused, even as her tail flicked about distractedly and her jovial voice murmured snippets of song as she drew in the open fold of her journal.   
  
“It is important to keep yourself grounded for this one.” Essek said, very seriously. He took the opportunity to stand, appreciating the soft give of the new rug beneath his boot as he squared his feet hardly against the floor. His hands spread before him, beginning to mime the intricate movements of the spell.  
  
“The casting of this generates a great amount of energy, and summoning it can very easily unrest your balance.” Essek warned, watching Caleb pointedly as the man frowned, indiscreetly pressing his heels against the floor with some force.   
  
“Wait.” Jester interrupted, smiling mouth revealing the flash of her teeth. “So every time one of your wizard guys cast this thing they fall on their ass?”   
  
“I- _Uh._ ” Essek floundered, dropping his hands helplessly down to his side. Jester was already giggling, voice climbing like the chatter of some song bird. “It is still very much in development, as with Dunamancy there is the unexpected and that is why we must aim to be so careful-”  
  
“But-” she interrupted, voice hitching on her laughter “-all your wizards totally eat it whenever they do this? Oh! Has anyone ever broken anything?”   
  
Despite his effort to bite it back, Essek felt the corners of his mouth twist into a smile. He glanced towards Caleb, the motionless man in his peripheral, and found that even a smirk was creeping across his face, softening the sternness of his features. Essek’s heart echoed a dull thud, a flushing heat creeping along his chest and burning up across his neck.  
  
“Well, I suppose they do, sometimes. Not that I- I don’t usually touch the ground, so it’s not a prevalent problem for _me_ .” Essek babbled, the weight of Caleb’s eye suddenly overwhelming. The man was a proficient caster, vastly talented, and the last thing Essek needed was him to think he was inadequate.   
  
“Oh my Gods, Essek. You have totally fucked this up before, haven't you!?” Jester cheered, lurching forward in her seat to stare him down.   
  
“I have not.” He bit out, willing for a moment that the Gods would take mercy and strike him down. If he were lucky he would not be reborn for a few decades, and the entire conversation would be forgotten.  
  
 _Or_ , it would be remembered that mortifying embarrassment had killed him.   
  
“Jester.” Caleb was soothing, voice so very gentle. “Perhaps do not scare off my teacher.”  
  
“I’m not trying to scare him, Caleb. I’m just trying to let Essek know that he can tell us if he has wiped himself out with this thing before, because that’s what friends are for.” Jester whined, clever eyes darting to meet Essek’s own.   
  
“Friends tell one another about their overwhelming failures?” Essek asked, tone curling sourly.   
  
“Well, duh. That’s exactly what they’re for!” Jester replied. “Having someone to talk about your failures with without being judged is like, super important.”  
  
“Oh, well I never-” Essek began, snapping his mouth closed with a click as Jester continued.   
  
“Which is why the Traveler is so cool, you know? He was always there for me when I needed someone to talk to. So if you don’t want to tell us about how you completely fucked up your fancy magic spell, you can tell the Traveler and I promise -” her voice dropped into an almost inaudible whisper as she continued -”wait, not really promise-”   
  
“I don’t-” Essek tried to reason.  
  
“Look, he won’t laugh _at_ you.” Jester finished, tone pitched into a pleading lilt.  
  
Caleb had raised a hand to press to his jaw, muttering his guttural Zemnian words against the palm. His eyebrows were heavily pinched together, and the sight caused a thrilled, bubbly energy to swell in Essek’s chest, until he was choking out a chuckle.   
  
“Mister Caduceus made you all tea, so I-” The abrupt voice died as suddenly as it arrived, the deep tone snapped off by a choked breath. When the voice from the doorway picked up again, it was much more girlish, carefully cultivated. “Ah, the Shadowhand, I was not aware.”  
  
A young Drow girl was hovering awkwardly in the doorway, a silver tray clutched in her dark fingers, brandished like a shield before her. Her bright eyes were rounded in surprise, wide pupil roving over Essek’s form, the quirk of his mouth that was quickly dropping into a deep frown, down over his rumpled clothes and to set heavily on his feet, where they were pressed to the ground.   
  
For a brief, terrifying moment his blood seemed to seize in his veins. Everything felt hollow, a shock as if the girl had struck him across the jaw, rather than just stand and gawk and to witness his every weakness regardless.   
  
“Danke, Vidalla.” Caleb said, voice firm. He had pulled himself up, taking the tray from her easy grasp. “You can go.”  
  
Essek’s breath still festered and died in his throat, heart impaled on a frigid spike of dread. Was it normal for his fingers to feel numb, even as the woman turned and retreated from the room? He needed… what? To breathe, he reminded himself belatedly, taking in a shaky inhalation. He needed away from the brightness of their home, he needed to stop allowing himself to become so relaxed, as if that were an option for him.  
  
He would surely be reassigned, when the word spread that his formal inspections were social calls.   
  
For some reason, the thought made him feel sick, a bitterness bubbling up and curling on his tongue.   
  
“I - Excuse me.” He stammered, turning abruptly and stumbling out into the brightly lit hallway, candle wicks crackling beneath the heat of their flames.  
  
Jester may have called after him, he was not entirely sure. Everything was dim beneath the foggy pounding in his head, hollow body carrying him to their restroom where he allowed the heavy oak door to slam behind him with a thud that fell deafly upon him.  
  
Essek had forgotten what it was like to not have control. It had been even longer since he knew the feeling of control spiralling from his grasp.   
  
And is that really what terrified him into a panic? The loss of favour, the loss of _trust_ from his Bright Queen would be devastating, he knows, and feels flushed with fear at the thought. But still the persistent worry presses down, smothering him like a shroud, the thought that without the guise of his work, he would not see these people again.   
  
He doesn’t want to lose them.  
  
There is a water basin in the room, carved from a hefty chunk of black mottled marble, and Essek splashes the tepid water across his trembling hands, squeezing the digits until they burn.   
  
How long would it be until the rumours were spread, that the seeds of doubt that his own carelessness had sown would flower into reality?   
  
Behind him the oak door creaked against a rap of knuckles, and Essek clenched his eyes closed against the sound.  
  
“Herr Thelyss,” Caleb murmured, voice distorted by the distance, by the pounding ricocheting in Essek’s head. Another quick rap, the knocking more firm. “Essek.”  
  
“It’s alright.” Essek spoke, having to clear his throat to force out the stunted words.   
  
“If you would allow me to speak, I swear to you that this can be resolved.” Caleb was muttering, and Essek could imagine him so very easily, eyes downcast, forehead pressed to the cool wood so that he could whisper into the crack of the doorway. Gods, he was probably tilting his head in that entirely submissive manner he favoured when speaking with the Bright Queen.  
  
Essek sighed, his shoulders sagging beneath the worry. He turned hesitantly, reaching out a hand to rest against the coarse grain of the door, finger brushing the cool brass handle. Then, before he could allow his thoughts to fester, he pulled open the door.   
  
Caleb blinked up at him, bright eyes instantly catching his own gaze. The man’s arms were curled before him, nimble hands tucked close to his chest.   
  
“May I?” Caleb nodded to the threshold of the door and beyond, into the marble interior.   
  
“It is your home, you need not ask my permission.” Essek said, softly.   
  
“And yet I am.” Caleb pressed, leaning heavily against the door frame, as if he were perfectly content to linger on the boundaries of his own estate.   
  
A terse silence settled between them, neither daring to move or utter a sound, Essek attempting to coax out a bluff. Caleb remained motionless, teetering on the threshold but refusing to impose.   
  
“Alright.” Essek allowed, stepping away until his back collided with the heavy counter.   
  
Caleb’s expression shifted minutely, a flicker of relief softening his features before he stepped into the room, nudging the door closed behind him. It closed with a heavy click, punctuating the finality of his decision and simultaneously making him intimately aware of their proximity. 

It was so silent he could hear Caleb’s gentle breaths, the rustle of his jacket as he shifted hesitantly before him. He imagined he could feel the heat from his body, craved to reach out and to touch now that there were no restraints.   
  
“We should have told you about Vidalla.” Caleb was speaking, and Essek blinked back into focus, frowning at how his thoughts shamelessly wandered whenever this man was concerned. “And we apologise. _I_ apologise. That was careless of us, and we should have considered how her presence would affect you. I should have known better, at the very least.”  
  
“You couldn’t have known.” Essek dismissed.  
  
Then Caleb moved, un-gloved hand reaching out towards him, so intentionally slowly, as if apprehensively reaching for an animal. Essek felt his breath hitch even before Caleb pressed against his forearm, the touch seeming to burn through his leathers and to brand his skin. There, the fingers twitched into a squeeze, Essek’s heart convulsing in a vice at the touch.  
  
“I should have known.” Caleb repeated, seriously.  
  
This close Essek could pick out the details of his expression, the flecks of green and brown that cluttered his iris. His skin was marked, tired pocks of sleep deprivation beginning to form beneath his eye, little lines of wrinkles creeping in and Gods - Humans aged so, so quickly. For a moment Essek wanted to reach up and to touch, to smooth them away beneath the pads of his fingers. He could coax the touch down to his mouth, his lips were dimpled with the impression of teeth, where he bit his lip as they studied.   
  
He was aware of his silence, that Caleb was quietly watching him in turn, the intense burn of his eye catching onto his own. It was a dreadful stalemate, toeing the precipice of some horrible cliff overlooking some craggy ocean. Each waiting for the other to take the plunge, to do something that was not just looking.   
  
Caleb squeezed his arm again, thumb beginning to work in soothing little circles.  
  
“Jester is speaking with her now, and Jester does trust her. But-” Caleb spoke, slowly.  
  
“But.” Essek mimicked, voice feeling foreign and abrasive even to his own ear.  
  
“ _But_ , Jester can also be terrifying, and if Vidalla will not swear secrecy out of goodness we can scare her into it.” Caleb said, all the while continuing his soft touches, allowing Essek to melt into the tenderness and almost believe, for a dreadfully fantastic moment, that it would be alright, that his career was not in jeopardy. “And, if we do not believe her we can kill her.”  
  
Essek opened his eyes - and when had he allowed them to slip closed?   
  
They were bowed together, conspirators, almost close enough to touch their foreheads. Essek had expected to find a trace of humour to the man, even a fleck of laughter in his eye, but all he could pick out was solemn intent.  
  
“That would certainly tick off one of the favours.” Essek shrugged, ever so careful not to disturb Caleb’s hand where it rested.   
  
“Just the one? I was hoping it would stretch to two, considering we’d be down a perfectly expensive house keeper.” Caleb murmured, and there was the minor twitch of his lips that Essek had been craving.  
  
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I still need you for some things first.” Essek admonished.   
  
“Will you at least hold off on calling in your favours until after your tea?” Caleb asked, and Essek could swear he felt the heated touch begin to crawl along his arm.  
  
“It is late.” Essek replied.  
  
“We have a guest room.” Caleb offered.   
  
“I likely have damage control to arrange.” Essek attempted.  
  
“Let us take care of you, for a change.” Caleb pleaded, and the fingers that were pressed lightly against his arm squeezed lightly, enough that he had to suppress a shuddering flinch.  
  
Essek hesitated, his heart thudding eagerly against his throat, a pounding mantra that echoed against the tender flesh of his wrist. The words seemed to consume him, to burn up through his body until the hollowness was replaced by a flushing warmth. To have someone to lean on? To have a family to shelter him? Gods, he did not know how desperately he craved that support until it was offered.   
  
“One cup.” Essek agreed, forcing himself to withdraw from the touch. Caleb’s hand remained suspended between them for a moment, scarred knuckles flexing before he pulled himself back into his neatly composed posture.  
  
Caleb withdrew slowly, the heat of his presence crawling away so timidly that Essek ached for it to return. It would be so easy to sway after him, to press them back to one another where his worries were soothed and everything felt right.   
  
The door creaked open as Caleb pushed it, and the two stepped out into the dim hall. Where they bumped squarely into Fjord.   
  
Fjord balked at their sudden appearance, shoulders jumping and hands floundering awkwardly before him, even as his eyes widened into surprised discs. His mouth dropped open wordlessly, the caps of his white tusks appearing for a brief moment from behind the curve of his lip.  
  
“What the _fuck_ is going on in this house today?” He asked, raising a hand to press to his forehead, as if he could smooth away the worried lines there. “Actually, you know what? I don’t care, don’t tell me.”   
  
Without further comment, although his dark cheeks flushed into a ruddy emerald, Fjord skirted around them neatly and slammed into the restroom.   
  
“So, this tea.” Essek began, struggling to swallow down a smile as Caleb turned to raise a wry brow. “It is calming?”  
  
“Oh, very.” Caleb reassured.   
  
Truly, that was all he needed, and so Essek followed Caleb back to the parlour, and resolutely did not allow his mind to wander to either his political demise _or_ the way his forearm still burned beneath the heated phantom touch of the other man.

\---

Apparently, heady exhaustion and the plushness of the parlour settee did not couple well with the soothing herbs of Caduceus’ tea.   
  
Essek had not rested away from his own bed in a very long time.  
  
Work had kept him preoccupied from seeking out carnal comforts, content in an isolation when that was all that he knew. Keeping to his own had satisfied him, it had sated him entirely. At least, he thought that it had.   
  
But now, coming softly to consciousness in the soothing warmth of someone else’s blanket, beneath a ceiling that was curled with strange roots and studded with perpetually twinkling bottled lights, Essek could not imagine anything more satisfying.  
  
A distant clamour of voices carried through the house, piercing the veil of his drowsy slumber and drawing him fully into the world. The warmth of candles spooled into the room, painting it with oranges and yellows that Essek imagined must be very much like their sunlight. He had never seen a broaching morning sunbeam, but he suddenly had the overwhelming urge to grab Jester by the forearm and to ask her to show him.  
  
And she would. _They_ would.   
  
It was such a terrifying thought that his chest swelled with it, excitement and fear toppling one another in an unpleasant cycle. All he had to do was ask.   
  
Essek moved to sit up, frowning as a warm weight pressed down heavily over his shins. His eyes glanced downwards to find the purring heap of Frumpkin blinking lazily up at him. The cat’s tail twitched once in irritation as he worked to free his trapped legs. He cast his eyes around the room, confirming that he was entirely alone, before sighing in defeat and reaching out to pet the animal.  
  
“You are spoiled rotten, little one.” Essek cooed, dragging his finger beneath the cat’s chin. “All of the familiars I have met would not be found wandering homes so freely, let alone climbing onto furniture or _guests_ .”   
  
“You’re hardly a guest at this point.” Nott’s familiar warbling voice pierced the silence, and Essek glanced upwards in surprise to find her stepping in through the doorway. “You spend just as much time here as we do.”   
  
“I-” Essek swallowed, mind still reeling on her words, drumming like a mantra against his temples. Den Theyless. Den Nein. He was in both. He could have both. “I apologise, I should not have imposed on you.”  
  
Nott closed the distance between them, coming to stand next to the head of the settee he had slept on. Her small mouth twisted into a mimic of a smile, crooked teeth peeking out from behind the thin line of her lips. There was so much to her, the golden hoops and jewellery, the lines of her intricate tattoo where it furled like a circlet against her skin, the bright flashes of ribbon that knotted the braids of her scraggly hair. Her entire being a dedication to diverting attention.  
  
Look at this, but do not look at me.   
  
Essek allowed himself to smile as she reached out to pet Frumpkin with him. Her small hand was swamped by the mass of fur, and pressed almost close enough to touch, enough that he felt the reassuring heat.   
  
Silence settled comfortably between them, and Essek appreciated that about her character. There was no obligation to speak, no requirement for niceties or false formalities.   
  
“We do like you, Essek.” She said, softly. Her large eyes staring blankly ahead, chin dipped low. “You offered to do so much for me when we already owe you so many favours, and I have not thanked you for that. I guess that I forgot to say it, you sometimes forget to thank family, but you _shouldn't._ Everything Yeza has done for me, that Caleb has done for me, and now you have too. I need to learn to say thank you more often. So: thanks.”  
  
“It was nothing to give.” Essek began, voice low. “I would give it again, if needed. You all owe me nothing.”   
  
“I-” Nott bit out, voice suddenly very strained. “I _want_ to distrust you. You have _shadow_ in your name, that’s so shady!-” Essek barked a chuckle, however her pointed stare quickly silenced him- “but you’re always helping us, and you’ve never called in any favours. We’re not popular people, and we have so few people that we can trust.”  
  
Essek worked his mouth, an uncomfortable sadness twisting in his throat until it was difficult to breathe.   
  
“I am just glad that we can trust you. I do trust you. I don’t want you to hurt us, if you did we couldn’t- he has seen so much betrayal of his trust.” She muttered, and Essek swallowed thickly, heart a war-drum in his chest.  
  
“He?” He asked, purposefully keeping his voice even. He knew, of course he _knew_ what she meant. Fire-red hair chased him into his dreams each night, bright, eager eyes that caused his gut to swoop whenever they flickered over him. A laugh that was so scarce that it was a delight to hear. He knew, he just didn’t know he had been so obvious.  
  
“I trust you.” She was repeating. “But Caleb is my family. I love him, and I promised him a very long time ago that I would protect him. So if you do anything, or if anything happens to us because of you, it doesn't matter how much I owe you." She breathed deeply, thin eyebrows pinched in thought. "I doubt I'd be able to kill you, but that won't stop me from trying, Essek.”  
  
“I understand.” Essek breathed, skin burning hot with a surging embarrassment. His mouth felt gagged with cotton, draining any moisture.   
  
Caleb was barbed, Essek had noticed the hunched posture and the high collars, long sleeves in warm rooms and the fumbling way he cocked his head in submission, even to those below him. But he could be serious and excellent, his mouth could twitch with a smile as they worked and he poured himself so fully, so bodily into his work, his intelligence feigning as confidence.   
  
Essek imagined the man being slighted by betrayals, and gradually it began to make sense. No one was naturally distrustful, especially a child of the Empire. How many times did the loyal dog need to be struck?   
  
His stomach curled with an unpleasant bitterness that took him a moment to identify as the coil of directionless anger. He did not want to imagine the terrible things that could have wounded Caleb so. He wanted to make it so that Caleb did not have to imagine them again, to banish away the heavy burden from his brow.  
  
Essek sighed as he stood, plucking up Frumpkin gently as he moved so that the cat was not distressed. If only people were easy to mend. If only some cruel thing had not broken them to begin with.  
  
To his surprise the familiar was pliant in his arms, settling comfortably as he held the animal to his chest. The rasp of warm fur was decidedly pleasant.   
  
“Breakfast? Or tea? We have tea.” Nott offered, and Essek made an apologetic sound in his throat.  
  
“I had better take my leave.” He began, words stumbling to a stop when Nott interrupted with a nonchalant shrug and a backward glance that was anything but.  
  
“I mean, we’ve already set your place.” She said, and Essek struggled to find a reason to argue with that.  
  
Was it really so terrible, to allow himself to accept an offered kindness? They had vouched to protect him, after all. It would be simple to return the trust.   
  
Anyhow, he did quite enjoy Caduceus' tea.   
  
Nott led him along the familiar route to the kitchen, the air heavy with herb butters and wispy stems of steamy brewing tea. This was perhaps the longest he had walked on his own two feet in a very long time, and the press of solid ground beneath him was less jarring and more a welcome comfort.   
  
The kitchen was bathed in the same candlelight as the previous room, a large torch sputtering high in an iron clutch on the far wall. Caduceus was fretting with several pots at once, dancing about them with long limbs that were strangely elegant as he seamlessly moved between the skillets. Jester hovered behind him, holding a jar of fermented fruits and offering one out to the man whenever he took a moment to pause. Her idle chatter pooled into the room, jovially lilting voice carrying in the high rafters of the ceiling.   
  
Caleb had a steaming cup of tea ahead of him, head hung heavily and propped up on one arm. His ponytail was loose and a few strands of wispy hair fell down to frame his face, eyes heavy and dark with sleep deprived bruises.  
  
One eye squinted open, falling immediately on Nott and the corners of his mouth curled upwards as he spoke: “This is the last time you talk me into reading one of those scrolls, I don’t know why I- _oh._ ”  
  
As he spoke his gaze climbed up to Essek, soft eyes widening with a start as his mouth rounded into silent surprise. Essek felt an unfamiliar tension in his shoulders, head pounding with possibility - maybe something was wrong with his hair, or-  
  
“Frumpkin seems to like you, ja?” Caleb said.  
  
“Ah.” Essek sighed, panic subsiding with the exhale. “Yes, we are… companionable.”   
  
Frumpkin began to purr contentedly in his grasp, as if to confirm the statement.   
  
“Here.” Caleb started, standing and shuffling over with outstretched hands. The sleeves of his shirt were rumpled, and the thick white bandages that wrapped around his forearms sprawled out before him. Essek desperately wanted to touch, to reach out and to soothe, but his arms were full of cat.   
  
Caleb came close, angling his lithe body so that he could take Frumpkin easily from his grasp and support the animal against his own chest. His eyes were drawn down, staring intently at the curve of Essek’s chin, before the red lashes brushed upwards and Essek found that intense gaze meeting his own. A trill of heat twisted in his veins, pulse stuttering against the tender flesh of his throat.   
  
“ _Danke._ ” Caleb said, uttering the word lowly. Essek could vouch that he felt the heat of it between them more than he heard it.  
  
“Anytime.” Essek dismissed, brain still struggling to format a proper sentence.  
  
With the cat bundled in his arms, Caleb smiled, sleep addled and so genuine. Just a twitch of his mouth that revealed a tiny flash of white teeth, a small crease forming at the corners of his eyes. Essek stared for a moment, mapping the expression and the closeness to memory before he allowed his own lips to part into an easy grin. It was so simple to imagine each morning like this, to broach into the waking world and be greeted by the unkempt and utterly gorgeous smile of his student; his ward; his friend. Just... Caleb, distorted by his frizzy hair and slept-in, shaggy clothes.   
  
“ _Oooh._ ” Jester barked, and Essek felt himself jerk backwards in surprise just as Caleb withdrew, no remnants of the tender expression to be found on his face. “Are you guys going to start making out in the kitchen-”  
  
“I would prefer it if you didn’t.” Caduceus interjected.  
  
“Caleb have you been reading more of Tusk Love? You _know_ there is that scene in the dining room and that was _so_ similar-”  
  
“Jester.” Caleb cleared his throat, uttering her name softly as he reclaimed his seat. Nott fell to his side and so Essek took it as an invitation to awkwardly fold himself into his own chair, a cup of tea already waiting. He plucked it up with numb fingers, taking long sips as he stared at the corner of the room.  
  
“Yes?” She hummed, energy brilliant for such an early hour after so little sleep.   
  
“It-” Caleb hesitated, and Essek risked a furtive glance towards the man to find that he was worrying his lower lip between his teeth. His bright eyes were already on Essek when the man moved his gaze upwards, and neither of them turned to look away as the man continued. “You know it was the parlour, not the dining room.”  
  
“Oh, my! I knew you did read it, Caleb!” Jester cheered, feet clattering heavily against the floorboards as she excitedly jumped in place, her single applause echoing through the room.  
  
“Why are you surprised, Jessie?” Beauregard groused, as she came tromping heavily into the room. Her hair was let loose and settled in waves above her shoulders. “What hasn’t this guy read?”  
  
As she entered she stopped, resting her hands on Caleb’s shoulders, ignoring the way they twitched at the sudden contact, and leaned down to press a stunted kiss to the crown of his head, lost amongst the thick hair.   
  
It was brief, and over as fast as it had come, but Caleb’s cheeks still warmed with a splash of red that he rubbed angrily at with the back of his hand. In the doorway, Fjord leered with crossed arms and made a pointed sound low in his throat, even as Beauregard continued on with an irritated groan. Essek heard snippets of words, distorted by his churning mind. 'Appreciation' was thrown out, greeted by a disdained grunt, and he certainly heard Fjord's easy drawl as he said:  
  
"Doesn't that make you feel better?"   
  
Essek’s hand twitched around the teacup, the small gesture replaying in his mind even as Beauregard moved to press a similar fleeting kiss to the rise of Jester’s knuckles as she passed. Kissing was so easy for them, it was so simple to show affection in the Empire. Essek could only desperately imagine reaching out to press a kiss to the curve of Caleb’s cheek, against the corner of his mouth when he smiled or to the lines around his eyes. To slant his mouth against the length of this throat and to suck until the soft skin bruised, or to press a tender brush of a mouth against his forehead. It was unfounded, it was unreasonable-  
  
Maybe, he thought, taking a serious sip of his tea. Maybe it would be alright. Everyone else seemed to do it, albeit apparently begrudgingly. What if it was such a dreadfully simple thing in the Empire?  
  
Perhaps kissing Caleb would not be so impossible after all. 


	6. Essek Theylss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well the last chapter’s focus on trust didn’t age well at all. yikes.

It was only on rare occasions that Caleb would splinter away from his group to study at Essek’s residence.   
  
The scarcity of the situation is perhaps what made any words on his tongue sputter and turn to ash as he opened his front door to reveal Caleb, lingering awkwardly on his doorstep.   
  
Silver moonlight suited him well, smoothing across his pale skin and failing to subdue the brilliant brightness of his hair. If anything it made the locks burn even more vivid, a splash of incredible colour in the drear muteness of the greys and charcoals and blacks that occupied Essek’s world. Everything about the man was overwhelmingly colourful, the clever spark of his eye and the cut of his clothes, the way his skin was always smudged with a pinkness when he returned from any voyages, a bruise that Yasha told him was called a sunburn.  
  
He was truly phenomenal, he-  
  
He was still standing on Essek’s doorstep, mouth curling into a small frown.  
  
“I can return at a later point, if this is inconvenient-” Caleb said, hands rising to curl around the leather strap of his satchel, the rough and worn leather slung heavily across his slender frame.  
  
“No.” Essek cleared his throat, reining his voice into something moderate and respectable, and decidedly _not_ desperate. “I am available, I just did not expect company - not that I mind, of course. Please, follow me.”  
  
Essek struggled to maintain his pristine posture, overwhelmed by the urge to curl into himself and to physically flinch away from his babbling. A prickling heat was already seeping along his shoulders, creeping up to flush across his cheeks like a searing brand. The words were ricocheting in his head, and he desperately wished to curse himself, because Caleb must believe him to be eccentric or weird.   
  
“I do not mean to impose.” Caleb muttered, the stunted hesitation to his tone drawing Essek’s attention.   
  
He turned to find the man still hovering on the threshold of his front stoop, eyebrows drawn down heavily and shoulders hunching up like hackles. Ever the Empire mongrel that had managed to endear him, eyes watching the floor with a burning intensity, and Essek knew that no amount of gentle coaxing would draw that gaze up to brush his own.  
  
But that was unkind of him. Caleb was not a creature, even if his homeland had taught him to cower like one.   
  
“We are friends, allegedly.” Essek offered, feeling a niggling worry begin to burrow into his gut, flushing his veins with ice. “And you could never impose upon me.”  
  
Caleb’s hands tensed around the leather strap until the material creaked, knuckles flexing into a chalky white in the intensity of his grasp. Essek swallowed down a pitiful noise, his own fingers twitching sympathetically at his side.   
  
“I found something.” Caleb said, low like divulging a confession. His eyes were fixed firmly to something beyond Essek’s shoulder. “It was in a hoard, kept by a dragon-”  
  
“A dragon?” Essek breathed, voice coloured with excitement.   
  
“Ja, you recall the Happy Fun Ball?” Caleb spoke with such conviction that Essek momentarily forgot how ridiculous the name was, instead nodding enthusiastically as Caleb finally stepped into his house and allowed the door to be closed behind him.   
  
It was dim in his house, with only a few weakly sputtering candles pooling into feint golden light. His furniture was mostly untouched and respectable, ready to receive guests that likely would not call upon him. Truly, the only spark of life that occupied his old halls was the bitter tang of white sage and sandalwood as the scents burned and crackled away in his thurible.   
  
“I found some pages of spellwork, nothing that I recognise myself.” Caleb said, padding awkwardly until he was in the centre of the reception hall. He seemed intent on refusing to take a seat and boldly ignoring the open maw of the staircase, where he knew it would lead to the research quarters. “Well, I recognise parts of it, but not in the order they are written. It seems more archaic.”   
  
“Well, it was a dragon hoard.” Essek reasoned. “It could be hundreds of years old.”  
  
“Which is why I have come to ask you a favour.” Caleb muttered, eyes lowered in deference, dark eyelashes brushing his cheeks.   
  
“Should I be insulted that you believe me ancient enough to understand _archaic_ texts?” Essek mused, struggling to conceal the twitch of a smile when Caleb’s head reeled up, eyes rounded into startled discs. “May I remind you that I am perhaps the youngest person you could refer to?”  
  
“I-” Caleb stammered, mouth snapping shut with a resolute click of teeth as Essek continued.  
  
“Or should I instead be appalled that you would think that I would consider you bringing me undiscovered, archaic texts of potentially brand new strands of magic to be an inconvenience? You must have an awful opinion of me if so-”   
  
“I apologise.” Caleb bit out, tone loose and uncertain.   
  
Essek’s humour immediately fizzled away, leaving his chest aching and hollow. He had been attempting to joke, but rather than draw out any form of laughter Caleb instead seemed to be withdrawing even further from him, shoulders hunched up as if preparing to be struck. As if he expected to be struck. Even now, his eyes were once more turned down, deferring and submitting as he does to the Bright Queen.   
  
On some days, for brief, terrible moments, Essek believed that he would not mind if the war continued. He would be glad if the Empire returned to dust, would take solace in knowing that the people who reduced Caleb to a spectre would be destroyed in the carnage.   
  
But the thought was always brief, and was always followed by a horrid, bitter regret that washes through him like venom sizzling in his veins.   
  
Instead, he reached out a hand hesitantly, unsure as to what his intent truly was. To clasp Caleb on the shoulder? He had never done that before, and surely it would be incredibly awkward.   
  
Caleb flinched at the movement, and Essek’s hand faltered and froze between them. A palpable tension brewing and fermenting, the hitched intensity of their breathing audible, the loping scrape of Caleb’s boot against the tiled floor as he shifted awkwardly a harrowing sound.  
  
Essek dropped his hand back to his side, ignoring the way his fingers trembled.  
  
“Do you want a drink?” He asked, feeling hesitant and entirely small. “I wasn’t serious when I said-”  
  
But Caleb was already nodding, and Essek allowed his stunted words to taper off and be consumed by the intense silence between them.   
  
Beauregard would know how to resolve this, Essek mused, as he drifted hesitantly by the other man, allowing ample space. She would know how to knit together the right sort of words to sand away this coarse thing between them. Because at the end of the day she was a scholar, albeit reluctantly, and she would recognise that terrible tension that drew Caleb’s face into a simmering glare, would be familiar with that bubbling frustration. A student that considered struggle to be weakness. 

“How long have you been attempting to figure this out?” Essek asked, allowing his tone to remain decidedly neutral, courtly, even.  
  
“Ah-” Caleb’s lip pursed outwards with a tired huff, a pale hand lifting to brush the fall of hair away from his forehead -”ten-fifteen hours? I only found it yesterday and I-”  
  
“Have you slept?” Essek interrupted, unbridled surprise souring his tone.  
  
“Does it matter?” Caleb hissed, pulling himself into an almost impossible straightness, as if the arch of his back were braced with stone.   
  
“Yes.” Essek replied, voice drifting off into something soft, a whisper that needn't have been in the cavernous hall of his house.   
  
It was as if he were peering into a mirror, a distorted refraction of himself as a youth. In those early days there was nothing to draw him from his research, and it was so easy to label any that did not enable his heedless, reckless study to be his enemy. He wondered now, looking at Caleb with his tired eyes, heart pulsing sorrowfully against his aching ribs, how many of those enemies may have cared.   
  
“Essek.” Caleb sighed, eyebrows pinching together as he frowned heavily. “I did not mean to intrude this upon you.”  
  
He was building up walls, and Essek knew those foundations so very well. Caleb wore that familiar frown of a man convinced that he did not need those who were not helpful. Despite their resolute stillness, and the fact that neither of them had drawn apart, Essek could feel the man slipping from his grasp as if he were losing a physical touch.   
  
Essek held up a hand, the heavy sleeve of his robe falling down to tangle at the crook of his elbow. Caleb’s gaze locked onto the gesture, and for a moment Essek believed that the man could see the erratic pulse of his heart against the tender skin of his wrist.   
  
“We will look at it for a while, a few hours. Caleb, do not mistake my concern for disinterest. I appreciate that you brought this to me-” he lowered his hand, pressing his open palm over his chest, against the thump-pound of his beating heart- “But you know as well as I that distance can be just as good as a second eye. Allow yourself space, let your brain adjust, and we can come back to it. We always have tomorrow, and then the day after that. There is no hurry."  
  
“I-” Caleb said, the remainder of his words swallowed up by a sigh. “I forget that we have roots here. I am... I am very used to impermanence.”  
  
Essek allowed himself to drink in the sight of the man, the curious stubble that crawled over his jaw and the bitten welts that bruised his lower lip. A million fragments of want and strange urges pulsed through his mind, to comfort and to tend to, to drag him up to the tower to look at the notes. Then, the most irresistibly and the most devastatingly, the longing to touch his fingers gently to that coarse jaw, to duck close and to press his lips to his forehead, to his frowning mouth.  
  
Instead, he balled his fists quite seriously, until the buckle adorning the front of his robe bit into the palm of his hand, burning against the flesh.   
  
“Think of how much you would flourish then, if you allow yourself to properly use those roots.” He murmured, composing himself enough to pull away, and continued heading towards the kitchenette. Behind him, after a not insignificant pause, the thump of heeled boots echoed on the tile behind him.  
  
The kitchen was sparsely outfitted, the essentials for himself which were heavily used and worn, and a few displays of moderately impressive silverware for any scarce guests. A dark marble wine rack occupied the largest surface, bottles impeccably lined and all sporting rather impressive names that Caleb does him the courtesy of perusing, although Essek knows he would not be familiar with the titles or their quality. A bowl of daintily wrapped sweets lingered slightly out of place on the counter, and he pointedly ignores it as he hurries about filling glasses with water from a basin.  
  
“Did Jester order these for you?” Caleb asked, nodding awkwardly towards the dish of sweets.  
  
“I, uh-” a self-deprecating laugh bubbled out of him, and were his hands not occupied with drinks he would be abashedly rubbing the nape of his burning neck- “I actually ordered them, for erm, because of... her? Please, feel free to, uh, take any. I gave them a try myself but they’re erm… too much for me.”  
  
Caleb’s hand, which had been poised awkwardly against the cool marble of the counter, hesitantly reached into the bowl and scooped up a few of the packets. In the terse silence of the room the rustle of wrappers seemed almost deafening.   
  
“Oh.” Caleb said, pocketing the bundle of sweets. “That is, uhm, nice.”  
  
Despite it all, Essek swallowed down the urge to laugh.  
  
It felt almost hysterical, the tension and awkwardness brewing in his chest, bubbling up in his throat as laughter, only to be captured behind his grit teeth. Embarrassment swelled in his stomach, burning along his skin like a fever.   
  
Gods, why was everything so awkward? Was he being punished?   
  
It was silence that followed them back out into the hallway, and through the darkly varnished door that opened into one of Essek’s sitting rooms. It was scarcely furnished, minimalist in a way that was debatably tasteful, rather than a proclamation of his utter loneliness. A single lantern sputtered on the glass table, set low before the sangria settee.   
  
“Please.” Essek gestured loosely to the seat, setting down the drinks with a thud that seemed to resound up into the dark, high ceiling.   
  
Caleb did not hesitate to accept the invitation, sitting steadily on the lip of the seat, careful not to disturb any of the intentionally haphazard throw pillows. His satchel snapped open with the groaning protest of old metal buckles, and the papers were spread like a fan of cards on the table before them. Essek took a seat awkwardly, allowing perhaps a too apparent distance between them. It was only a few inches, but the space yawned almost cavernous.  
  
The papers were varied, two thick stacks of aged parchment were clearly a higher quality, with neat gold trimming accenting the ruddy page. The penmanship was foreign and difficult to distinguish, so Essek pulled the stacks closer to squint at the strange strokes.   
  
“That is what I found.” Caleb gestured loosely to the bundles of paper in Essek’s grasp. Then, he threw his hand in a wave above the snatches of odd paper and the refined handwriting that Essek was familiar with. “These are my musings, and what I have figured so far. A lot of paper for very little progress.”  
  
Essek took a moment to turn to Caleb, raising a brow incredulously even as the man occupied himself in beginning to unwrap one of the dainty sweets.   
  
The fiddly rustle-crunch of the paper led Essek through his introduction to the scripts, although he could not stop his eye from glancing sideways to catch Caleb press the small treat into his mouth, tips of his fingers resting gently against his lip. The way his cheeks hollowed out and the curve of his throat hitched as he sucked-  
  
Essek snapped his eyes firmly back to the pages, awkwardly clearing his throat to dislodge the lump that had formed there.   
  
“This-” Caleb said, voice wrung as if dreadfully pained. “Is erm-”  
  
“Disgusting?” Essek offered, not glancing away from the research.  
  
“Ekelhaft, _ja_ .” Caleb shuddered around the Zemnian, and Essek doubted he would ever grow accustomed to those foreign words, how they caused his pulse to hitch eagerly. It was not a beautiful language, it could even be considered guttural, but something about how naturally and beautifully it flowed from his tongue was infinitely pleasing. “They are not ideal.”  
  
“You can only find poor imitations of your foods here, unsurprisingly. I will try elsewhere, for your next visit.” Essek dismissed.   
  
Caleb, not terribly subtly, plucked the sweet from his mouth and re-wrapped it in the foil. He dropped it awkwardly on the desk, lost amongst his piles of haphazard notes, before he reclined hesitantly until his back touched the backrest of their seat. Essek pointedly ignored the way the fabric dipped beneath him, as if enticing his body to follow the movement.   
  
“Let me know when you have caught up.” Caleb murmured softly, and for a moment Essek was startled into a huff of laughter. He had heard those words before, coloured differently and soured with venom. But they were spoken so simply, distorted by nothing but a broaching softness.  
  
“Hm.” Essek agreed, gently.   
  
The notes were certainly archaic, reading roughly and often causing him to pause while his mind stumbled about for a translation. It seemed to lean towards a warding spell, specifically for larger projectiles, but the terminology was strangely foreign and the equations did not match the runes in any way that he was familiar with.   
  
In the ensuing silence Essek picked through the pieces slowly, his mind desperately trying to make sense of the jumbled arcane before him. The only sounds to occupy the space were Caleb’s even breaths and the rasp of his fingers against the ancient paper, crinkling at the slightest touch.   
  
“What do you think this means?” He asked, holding the notes aloft and tapping his finger against a strange, curling rune. “I’ve never seen one like it before.”  
  
Caleb didn’t respond.  
  
Essek dropped the paper slightly, allowing it to rest in his lap, and craned his neck to look at Caleb. The man was curled up tightly, shoulders hitched and chin ducked low, even as his mouth was softened and open with his steady breathing. Dark lashes brushed against his cheeks, eyes closed. The twine of his ponytail draped over one shoulder, each exhale disturbing the hair.   
  
Oh, Essek startled, staring unabashedly at the hunched form of the sleeping man. Even in sleep he was rife with tension, brow furrowed with worried wrinkles and the tight lines of his arms braced across his chest.   
  
“Caleb.” Essek said, very softly. He cleared his throat, and pressed on more firmly. “Caleb.”  
  
The man did not even twitch, the collar of his shirt tickling his chin as he dozed. Essek’s fingers creaked against the old papers, before he set them down to be lost amongst the haphazard mountains of notes.   
  
“I, well, thank you. Thank you for trusting me with this.” Essek whispered, gesturing loosely to encompass the room, the research before them, Caleb’s curled form as he dreamed.   
  
Nervous energy trilled in his chest, even as his gut melted into something gooey and warm. This was a kind of intimacy that was foreign to him, even more than chaste kisses in hidden alcoves of the Lucid Bastion, even more than falling into bed for something detached and serviceable with complete strangers. This was someone tucked up in his home, a man who caused his heart to lurch with terrifying emotion.   
  
This was Caleb trusting him.  
  
Gods. _Gods._ Essek pressed his head into his hands, digging the heels of his palms against his eyes until the darkness sparked with flecks of silvery colour.   
  
There had to be some outlet for the tumultuous emotion brewing up inside of him, prying against his ribs until his chest ached. The tenderness that surged against his throat until it was suffocating. Want and need intertwining into something sour and painful in his blood, pounding in his veins.   
  
But there _was_ an outlet, he knew it intimately _._ The Mighty Nein were far more liberal with it than other Dens, but he knew what the feelings contorting inside of him were. The urge to reach out and to touch, to claim and to consume and to comfort.  
  
But this was Caleb, who was studded with peculiar thorns and dreadfully complex, whose hair was like firelight and whose witty smirk could still Essek’s heart in his chest. This wasn’t some nameless fuck at a party, so void and detached that he could not recall their face, their voice, their eyes.   
  
He would remember the colour of Caleb’s eyes forever.   
  
Without thought, Essek turned to fully face Caleb, knees almost brushing the man’s own. He raised a hand up to his face, almost close enough to glance across his cheek. He gently touched his thumb to a strand of hair, the softness causing his heart to twist in his chest. Then, careful not to disturb him, he brushed the lock up and back from his face.   
  
There were no witnesses here, no consequences if he were to permit himself to be soft.   
  
With that notion drumming in his skull, the tremble echoing through his body until his hands quaked, Essek drew close, until his breath rasped across the soft hairs that brushed Caleb’s forehead. He pressed his lips to the warm skin there, willing the concerned and upset creases away. It was a strange contrast, the softness of his skin accompanied by the ticklish rasp of his hair. This close his smell was encompassing and homely, the curl of old ink blots and cheap soaps, and strangely, the musk of ash.   
  
Essek frowned, and gently drew away, letting his hand linger briefly against his cheek. He heard the pads of his fingers rasp against the coarse stubble, pressing against the curious, gritty texture.   
  
He had expected elation, for the giddy eagerness that brewed and pulsed like a lifeblood in his veins to sizzle. But it only felt bitter, and for all that his gut burned and longed, it _hurt_ , a deep, horrible ache brewing in his heart.   
  
It was with guilt and his heart lodged precariously in his throat that he drew back to himself, clutching his fingers desperately together, feeling the knuckles creak and moan in his own grasp.   
  
His lips tingled, remnants of the brief brush clinging to him, and it took all of his restraint to stop himself from reaching up to touch them.   
  
“You’ve ruined everything.” Essek said to his clasped hands. “You’ve ruined me.”  
  
And that was alright, he realised with a terrifying start. It was perfectly fine, that these people had come to this place and disturbed his placid little world, that they had outfitted the loneliness of his life with laughter and ridiculous ploys, had introduced him to tea and shown him what the harp sounded like when brutalised.   
  
It was acceptable too, that his heart felt on the brink of imploding.  
  
Beside him the weight on the settee was disturbed, and Caleb made a low, confused noise. Essek watched from his peripheral as the man shifted, the way his face creased down into a frown and his hand tentatively rose to rub at the corner of his bleary eye, gaze still unfocused and narrowed.   
  
Irrationally and idiotically, Essek feared that Caleb would somehow know what had happened, that he already knew and was judging him for it. But, _it was perfectly normal_ , he tried to reason, the rest of the Nein did it all the time. Caleb would not know, although Essek believed the evidence somehow clung physically to his mouth. Part of him expected the man's hand to rise to his forehead, to touch the skin there as if Essek had branded him.   
  
Because surely the rest of his friends did not kiss him with such tenderness.   
  
“ _Verflucht noch mal._ ” Caleb hissed, hands rasping against his beard and he rubbed his face. “You let me sleep?”  
  
“You fell asleep.” Essek reasoned, shrugging one shoulder helplessly. It was an expression he had adopted from Beauregard, and he found the simple act to be remarkably helpful, albeit he had to check himself often in court, less he accidentally slight some nobleman.  
  
“You should have woken me.” Caleb groaned, pinning a sleep-softened glare towards him.  
  
“Ah, because you are simply so radiant now, having been woken.” Essek smirked, and despite his better judgement allowed himself to meet Caleb’s eye. The man’s brow twitched upward, towards his hairline with a wry intensity.   
  
“Perhaps try waking me _nicely._ ” Caleb mused.  
  
“And how would you suggest I do that?” Essek asked, raising a hand to tick along the fingers. “Allow me next time to arrange for a divine meal to be ready, or should I instead hire a singer to coax you back with her voice?”  
  
“I can think of a few things.” Caleb sighed, arching his back as he stretched, arms reaching high above and hands clasping together neatly. Essek tried not to stare, he really, really did.   
  
“Do divulge.” He said, instead occupying his hands and his mind by leaning over to reclaim a loose scrap of parchment.   
  
“I uh-” Caleb started, voice abruptly dropping and a startled little laugh interrupting the words-”I don’t, erm. It doesn’t matter.”  
  
“I-” _strongly disagree, and will press regardless as my heart is currently fluttering like a bird in my throat because you may something dirty,_ he did not say. Instead he cleared his throat to dislodge the irritating welt forming there “-understand.”  
  
“Here.” The papers in his hand crinkled as he waved them, and Caleb leaned closer to peer at them silently. The press of his shoulder against Essek’s own was unexpected and shocked a delighted spark through his core, simmering in his bones.   
  
It should be terrifying, how innately natural it felt to spend his evening reclined with Caleb, pouring over texts and bickering like students about the diminutive details, throwing forth theories and equations just as frequently as lewd remarks. But it _was_ simple, so decidedly and remarkably tranquil that Essek did not even consider any alternatives, a time where Caleb did not occupy his world like a blustering beacon was just as unfathomable as the ridiculous equations before them. 

\--- 

Everything was buzzing, trembling beneath the tepid evening air.   
  
The lantern was sputtering now, drinking deep from the last drops of oil and causing the writing before him to dance and swim, even as it was hammered and straightened in his mind. Nervous energy was trilling along his skin, a fever flush of fervid excitement, like broaching the precipice of a terrible cliff and taking in that gut-wrenching view, just as his brain considered the fall.   
  
He was excited, _they_ were excited. They were broaching the finale of this thing, Caleb’s hand spilling over the papers with a flourish. Essek could feel it, electricity on his tongue, honey-thickened sweetness and eagerness numbing his mind. This was the last length, this was fitting the filigree garnish and then they would have done it.   
  
They felt powerful. Gods, they _were_ powerful. Cast in this dim lamplight, surrounded by their hours of work, he felt almost drunk on it.   
  
Caleb’s hand stopped abruptly, pleased smile twisting his mouth upwards into a clever smirk. His chest heaved, dark shirt rising almost too quickly. At some point they had moved to the floor, disregarding the formalities of proper posture in favour of crouching over the papers, strewn about like children at play.   
  
“Is it done?” Essek breathed, staring reverently at Caleb’s motionless hand, where the dark fingers were smudged with the charcoal of the pencil. His knuckles were always bruised, capped by the bloody welts of his misadventures.   
  
“ _Ja._ ” Caleb breathed, setting the pencil down with a trembling hand. “Yes.”  
  
Essek made no attempt to swallow down his brazen grin, for Caleb was chuckling eagerly across from him. His breath hitched in his throat, suffocating the bubbling laughter until he was left silent, watching Caleb in the dim light.   
  
He was ethereal, the light splaying over his skin as if molten gold, his brilliant mind and brilliant eyes, the white flash of his incredible smile. Essek had never truly understood bards before, their longing to wax prose about the seemingly insignificant intricacies of people. But now he knew, Gods, give him a pen and he could flourish about Caleb’s mind for pages.   
  
Caleb was so much. He was so much and it burned him up inside, his gut melting and twisting, his heart thudding so loud that it echoed dully in his temple. He didn’t know how to express it, how to do anything other than grin at him like a fool.  
  
His hands moved blindly, grasping towards Caleb before the tangled weave of his better self could even begin to intervene. His fingers brushed first the silken sheen of his shirt, the heated skin beneath the fabric jumping with his excited laughter. Then the hand travelled up to cup the back of his head, fingers dipping into the coarse hair and pressing against the tender skin of his scalp, rasping against the satin softness.   
  
Essek used that leverage to pull them closer, leaning forward to shorten the distance, and truly, he blamed his overwhelmed senses for his eyes slipping shut.  
  
Caleb’s lips were damp when he kissed them, brushing briefly against the corner of his mouth. The grit of his stubble was foreign and fantastic as burned against his lips.   
  
He drew away as easily as he had pulled in, allowing his hand to pull back to his side even as his fingers shook and quaked. His stomach was buzzing with emotion, chest dithering like a bustling bird was confined behind his ribs.   
  
His lips were burning.   
  
But it felt better, it felt like sloughing off a tremendous weight from his shoulders. That brief intimacy, that gentle touch, so much affirmation in such a simple motion. No wonder the Nein were so prone to expressing themselves so basely.  
  
It was a delight.   
  
It was tempting, to risk a furtive glance towards Caleb, to gauge his reaction to Essek’s stumbling into such a new territory. Instead, he swallowed thickly and plucked up the page Caleb had finished penning, lines still crisp against the parchment.   
  
A pressure clasped over his wrist, and Caleb’s hand closed atop his, crunching the paper beneath the intensity of his grip. Essek followed the line of his skin up to the curl of his shirt sleeve, following up and up until his eyes met Caleb’s expression; wide eyes, earnest and searching, as if his very will were trying to reach into him, to dissect him to his very core. The hand covering his own twitched, thumb drifting softly over the tender skin of his wrist, where his pulse was hammering in his veins.   
  
Caleb used that grip to pull Essek closer, used the leverage to ease himself near, until the gap between them was diminished again, their heads tucked close enough to touch, hot breaths mingling in the scarce space between them.   
  
Bright eyes twitched across him, brushing his gaze before dropping to his mouth, where he was opening it to begin spilling out apologies.   
  
Caleb kissed him firmly, mouth opened and the impression of teeth hard against his lips.   
  
Essek made a low noise in his throat, confusion and surprise being swallowed down as Caleb refused to pull away. There was no briefness to the touch, a simmering tenderness that coaxed him into responding, hesitant and fumbling.   
  
“What are you trying to do?” Essek whispered, the words easily captured in Caleb’s open mouth.   
  
“I don’t know.” Caleb breathed, lips brushing Essek’s own as he spoke. “What are _you_ wanting?”  
  
Curiously, Essek wished to laugh again, heaving a concerned chuckle into the kiss as Caleb recaptured his lips. There was a firmness to it that Essek was dreadfully familiar with, the hurried, heated kissing reserved for when he was much younger and more foolish, pressed briefly to a wall in the Lucid Bastion, trying to take and give as much as possible in the brief time allotted.   
  
Spurred by the thought that this could be short lived, and that he had a dreadfully expansive portfolio of things to accomplish, Essek deepened the kiss with a hesitant swipe of his tongue. Caleb opened up easily beneath his touch, tilting his head to allow their mouths to fit together even as his free hand began to tangle into the sensitive hairs at the nape of his neck.   
  
That delightful tug seemed to remind Essek’s scattered brain that he also had hands, and so he languidly dragged them up Caleb’s sides, enticing a delicious shudder. He allowed one hand to climb up to cup his cheek, beard biting into his palm even as his fingers danced over the soft skin of his curiously rounded ear.   
  
Caleb’s teeth nipped against his lip, a sweetly painful jab even as the man’s own hand crept up from his nape to cradle his head, thumb sweeping awkwardly over the sharp jut of his cheek.   
  
Essek withdrew, reeling his head firmly back as Caleb seemed intent to chase after him. Instead he turned, pressing his mouth to the corner of Caleb’s lips, brushing up over his cheek and placing a twin kiss to his forehead, littering the tiny touches wherever he could find purchase.   
  
“You and I, _we_ , we are going to do fantastic things.” Caleb babbled, tipping his head back in a silent invitation for Essek to move his ministrations downwards, to open his mouth against the heated column of his throat.   
  
“You-” _are incredible and gorgeous and I don't know what to do_ “-taste like that fucking sweet.” Essek hissed, lips brushing soundly over the damp patch of skin.  
  
Caleb laughed at that, the chuckle vibrating against his lips and between their chests, where they were pressed firmly together.   
  
“So, Herr Theylass.” Caleb muttered, dipping his voice so that it rumbled against the lathing of his tongue, as he worked it against the skin of his throat. “ _Shadowhand_ , tell me, what brought this on.”  
  
Gods, Essek shuddered, clenching his eyes shut for a tense moment. That was going to haunt him eternally. He would never hear his title without the shadow of that terrible voice distorting it, how could he function in court now?   
  
“You and your companions have been doing this for months now, and we are friends.” Essek hummed, nosing up enough to press a kiss to the scratchy underside of his jaw.   
  
“I never do _this_ with them.” Caleb protested, tipping his head to the side to allow better access.   
  
“You started _this_ .” Essek mimicked the tone, voice tempered by incredible fondness.   
  
“I-” Caleb said, voice catching awkwardly. The hand that had been curled encouragingly around Essek’s jaw withdrew, and a moment later it returned to push him forcefully back against his shoulder.   
  
“You have never taken anything I did not want to give.” Essek whispered, the words heavy like a confession when they spilled from his tongue.   
  
“Even this?” Caleb pressed, shoulders drawing up with that stiffness he always adopted, learned from military and hardship.  
  
“Especially this.” Essek affirmed, raising a hand to gently catch Caleb by the chin. “In fact, I have wished to do this for a very long time.”  
  
It was Caleb who brought them together again, brow set with thin determination. His lips were soft and curved with a smile as they touched, slipping into a rhythm that was perhaps too eager, a little too quick.   
  
They had time, Essek tried to rationalise, for conversation and for further exploration, to fall into a routine and to establish their footing. These people had shown him, inexplicably and impossibly, that there was always time for these sweet additions, that his emotions did not have to be smothered for his successes.   
  
So for now Essek was content to melt into the kiss, heart lodged in his throat and Caleb’s skin warm beneath his touch. And, although it felt like it, kissing Caleb was not so impossible after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so very much for sticking with me through this! I enjoyed writing every bloody word of this thing, even as it outgrew the outline and became a bit of a monster. (it was originally a 5k oneshot /hah/)
> 
> if you want to talk about shadowgast hell, or even just say hello, feel free to hit me up on tumblr @ereborslionheart


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